Fire Emblem - Realms
by WanderingWordsmith
Summary: The Summoning Gate roars with energy. A Hero torn from lands unknown faces a war of wretched odds.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hot-damn. How long has it been since I did anything here?**

 **Anyway, hello! For those of you who don't know me, I originally published on this website with a Rosario + Vampire fanfiction, _Thawing Permafrost_. So much has happened and changed over the past few years that I no longer felt satisfied calling it a work I was proud of, so I've taken down all traces of it on the internet except its TvTropes page. A few of you asked me in PM's where it had gone, and I apologise for not reaching out. Perhaps, if I feel it - and there's demand - I'll revisit.**

 **For now, I'm posting this as something of a pet project. I've had a fic in my head for ages and I finally found time to grease the wheels. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

The Gate roared. Bolts of light broke from the carved stone and radiated out, filling the dais and blinding the man who'd stirred its timeless magics. "Chrom!" he yelled, "Tiki! I need you!"

A pair – one man garbed in white and a woman, wreathed in red – hastened to his side. Both recoiled as they drew near. "It's never done this before! What could it mean?"

Any answer they offered drowned under the crescendo of unleashed energy, washing over all gathered. It spat a shape from the starlight that came crashing to earth in a graceless heap, then faded as quickly as it had begun. The Gate settled, returning to silence.

Tiki was the first to stand. "What strength…"

"Quite," answered Chrom, who helped the middle man up, "Lykala, are you alright?"

Lykala dusted himself off, thanking Chrom. He wore a pale robe inlaid with woven gold and held tightly to a bizarre artefact in his left hand. "I'm fine. What could have caused that? Have you seen it before?"

"I believe," Tiki breathed, "Your answer is starting to wake up."

All eyes fixed on the former heap, who now started with a snarl that rolled into an awful, uncomfortable groan. He wore clothes unfamiliar to all gathered, and though he kept to his position on the ground, they could see the man for the warrior he was.

Or, at the very least, the warrior his uncountable scars suggested.

"Friend?" Chrom inquired, taking a slow step forward. His blue eyes didn't blink, gauging the stranger. Gauntlets, heavy and wrapped in decorative red plate – but besides that, he wore very little armour. He asked the stranger the same question he'd asked Lykala, who now joined in the approach. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Thal's balls…" came the reply – and though none of them knew the name whose scrotum he grumbled about, they recognised a curse when they heard one. He fell back onto his rear, sitting upright and pressing a palm to his forehead. "This isn't an aetheryte I know of…"

Tiki let slip a small gasp, for she found it harder to find a patch of healthy flesh on him. Indeed, the whole of the summoned stranger's body seemed twisted and disfigured, and that was only what she could see, for he kept most of it wrapped. His face, too – black cloth bound the left half of his face, forming something of a headband to manage a shock of dark red hair. The man finally opened his uncovered eye, green like spring grass, and the stranger snapped to immediate action. He shunted from his feet, keeping low and making ready to-

"Easy, easy!" Chrom's voice staggered the stranger's assault. He shouted, holding both hands out and stepping between Lykala and the stranger. In so doing, he commanded the entirety of his attention. "We're not here to hurt you."

From his vantage, Chrom saw the man's eyes snap down to his waist; more accurately, to the scabbard strapped to his side. Each of them received similarly wary, similarly rapid scrutiny. "What's your name, friend?" asked Chrom.

"Where am I?" the stranger returned, with a voice like gravel churned underfoot. It held a breathless quality, and each question came at the end of an inhalation. "Who are you?"

"My name is Chrom. I'm a Shepherd. This is Lykala – that's Tiki over there. You're safe, I promise you that."

"Safe!" scoffed the stranger, clearing his throat. Still, he rose to full height, and the gathering relaxed as he did so. "I don't see a crook."

"Not that kind of shepherd. What's your name?"

"Will you tell me where I am if I answer?"

Chrom paused. Tiki caught the frown carved into the stranger's face, answering before her comrades could. "You're in Askr – rather, you were summoned here. The Gate," she pointed a gloved finger just behind him, "Summons Heroes, and it called you in answer to Lykala's plea. Chrom and I arrived in a similar fashion."

"Heroes?"

"Yes."

The man looked between the three of them, his hum the rattle of struggling lungs. "Not you, though."

"Not me," Lykala answered, holding to some of the tension that had eased, "I summoned you."

"Right – then you can unsummon me."

"What?"

"End the spell. Release your magic." Each demand came with rising intensity, a fire stoked by his apparent agitation. "I don't want to be here, and I assure you that I'm neither one of your Heroes, nor do I desire to be. End the spell."

Lykala looked to the artefact in his hand. "It doesn't work that way."

"What?" he snapped.

"It doesn't work that way!" Lykala answered, louder. The stranger 's brow arched, incredulity replacing anger.

"You're joking," said he.

"I'm not."

He looked to Tiki. She shook her head. "He's not."

"You're not joking."

"We just-"

" _Perhaps_." Tiki continued, stepping forward, "We should start at the beginning. Inside, when our new guest has taken a moment to collect himself."

"I'm not going anywhere," the stranger replied, taking a step back. He wobbled dangerously and nearly crashed back into the dais, "Even if I wanted to…"

"Well," she considered him, "When you are ready, Lykala and Chrom will come to you. I will stay here. Is that acceptable?"

"Tiki-" Chrom began, but she was prepared for the protest.

"The Gate's never behaved so violently before. Anna and the others need to know – and I think right now, our guest trusts us about as far as he can throw us. I'll stay here. If he's willing, we can try this again."

She levelled a smile at the stranger, who'd steadied himself by returning to his seat on the floor. She joined him, sweeping a cape of delicate pink underneath her and smiled despite an unblinking stare. If she had to liken it to anything, it would be a starving, cornered beast. "Go on," she urged, looking to Lykala with a meaningful dip in her tone, "Before they come to us."

Realising that there was no argument, Lykala span and walked with Chrom towards the palace from whence they'd come. Tiki and the stranger both caught the fervent, hurried words they exchanged along the way.

He looked to her, frown unbroken. "What kind of summoner can't release his thralls?"

Tiki replied patiently, "Do you think you'd be able to resist so if we were mere thralls?"

His expression emptied of ire, ceding her point. After a moment, Tiki began again. "This is hard for you. It is for all of us, when we arrive. Will you at least tell me your name?"

"Rooks," rasped he.

"Rooks." Tiki nodded.

He gauged the woman who'd so masterfully taken control of the sparking confrontation as she looked him up and down. Tall, slender. She wore a full length of green hair up in a ribbon that matched her brilliant red dress and boots, as well as the jewel set into the gold crest adorning her forehead. Her eyes seemed so very full of life, closer to a blooming meadow that his own gaze of trampled grass. He found her ears next, long and tapering to a point. "Elezen?"

"Pardon?" she replied, which said enough to answer the question.

"Nothing."

Tiki tipped her head but didn't press. "Where are you from?"

"Where was I _taken_ from?" Rooks snapped.

"If you wish to phrase it so."

"Eorzea."

"Is that a kingdom?" He narrowed his eye. Tiki's smile didn't break. "Apologies. 'Tis always exciting to meet new Heroes."

"Stop calling me that. I told you, I'm not-"

"Not a hero, yes. You're rather full of refusals."

"I've been brought here against my will by a summoner who can't summon properly." Rooks balled his fists. "You'll forgive me for not warming quite so quickly as you apparently have."

Tiki made to answer, but the man shot to his feet and approached the Gate. A tall monument, carved of stone far older than any in the area. Its dais overlooked a sprawling landscape, walled off by mountains that conquered the horizon. He stared through the hole in the centre of the Gate's mural. Thick lines crossed and wound into the shape of a tree in full bloom. He looked through and saw the sky, blue and endless like the one he'd arrived from. "It was raining." He rumbled.

"In Eorzea?" asked Tiki.

"Aye."

"Askr's weather is mostly agreeable."

Focussing on something other than his predicament seemed to have softened the edge Rooks held up to deflect attempts to reach him. "You said your name was Tiki?"

"Chrom did, but yes."

"Family name?"

"Not where I'm from."

"Where's that?"

"'Twas called Archanea." Tiki explained. Her cape fluttered in the breeze as she turned away from him, picking some noise beyond his hearing. "I believe they're returning."

"The not-summoner and the not-shepherd?" Rooks asked.

She laughed, a quiet and breathy noise. "Yes. Lykala and Chrom, if you want to be polite. I think Anna's with them, too."

She caught him tensing as she looked back, hunching slightly forward. "She's the Commander of the barracks yonder. Straightforward, like you."

He made a face that didn't pull his scars into harsh, carven valleys, and for the first time offered some glimpse of the man beneath the mangling. Anxious? No – wary. He didn't seem the type to fret over naught, Tiki mused; rather, he saw the threat his circumstances presented. Outnumbered and isolated.

Now that she thought on it, his reaction did seem entirely sensible, but the group arrived before she could sympathize.

Anna took the lead. A red-head, like Rooks, but hers was like the heart of a fire, where his was more akin to rust, or autumn leaves. She dressed in tunic and plate that bore much of the same colour and designs as the summoner behind her; and the Gate, now that he'd had time to study it. Plate that favoured her left arm, helped her face her opponents. His eye narrowed and folded his arms, rasped. "You must be Anna."

"You have my name," she replied, offering a grin, "Lykala tells me you're refusing us yours."

"Not refusing," Rooks returned, "You're not asking right. Tiki knows it."

"I see. Tiki?"

For either his mirth or his agency, Tiki suddenly engaged herself with the distant landscape. Anna exhaled. "Right. Could I have your name, please?"

"Rooks."

"Thank you."

"Not so hard, was it?"

Lykala made a face, dipping behind the hood of his robe. Anna stepped forward to and offered a hand. "You know my name, but I'm Anna, Commander of the Order of Heroes."

"You're an order? Listen, I don't know what your not-summoner told you, but I'm no hero. I don't belong here."

"Not-summoner?" Lykala piped up. Rooks smirked.

"What kind of summoner can't control his summoned?"

"Well…"

"We're not about control," Anna interjected before Lykala could complete the thought, "Precisely the opposite, actually. Will you join us inside? At least there we can eat. You must be hungry."

"I'm not," Rooks replied, but he nevertheless opened his arm out, "After you."

They filed in from the summoning field to the palace proper. Anna took the lead; Lykala and Chrom, talking fervently about something of apparent importance, claimed the middle; Rooks with Tiki at the back. From there, he could take in the building in all its grandeur. Spacious hallways opening onto dearly-tended courtyards, tall doors of old wood that creaked under any movement. He'd spied a keep on the approach, too. Their footsteps echoed loud, boots and feels clacking, plate and scabbards rattling. He noted that Anna didn't carry a weapon, only Chrom and Lykala, with their sword and… what was that? A gun? A focus? Most curious.

More curious, he thought, and eventually voiced… "Where is everyone?"

"Busy," Anna answered, "The Order has their hands full most days. Sharena and Alfonse are in the city, uh… Robin's out with the scouts…"

She listed a few off, but Rooks didn't pay attention long enough to count the rest of the names. That she stopped not long after he moved on confirmed one suspicion, though, and planted a dreadful seed in the pit of his stomach. It hollowed him out, and if he didn't know better, it would feel a lot like hunger.

"In here," Anna said with a huff. She pushed open another grand set of doors. These opened onto a large chamber filled with a massive table that dominated most of the room. On second glance, Rooks realized that it was not _one_ , it was a half-dozen, all pushed and organized in such a way as to allow people to pass around each with minimal disruption. A staggering number of scattered documents masked the sectioning, and the closest of these he investigated as they filed in. Charts, maps, lists, books. Small carven figures of two different designs…

"This is a war room," said he.

"You're very perceptive," Tiki noted, smiling at him as she passed. Lykala and Chrom took to their own corner, paying especial attention to the map there.

Anna fixed Rooks clear in his eye. "That you are. You've seen them before?"

"Only in passing," he rumbled, still taking in more details, "Which side are you?"

He pointed to the collection of figures. About sixty percent of the maps had black figures dominating their features, including the one the two men worried over. Only a few had any large portion of carven white standards.

Anna's smile wavered. "You've no shortage of wit."

"Who's your enemy?"

"Embla, Askr's bordering nation."

Rooks finally turned his eye to Anna. Each question he asked came sharp and succinct, like the flash of a knife. "Why Heroes?"

"Both kingdoms have worked with Heroes in the past," she explained, "We maintained a fragile peace borne from the end of the last war, up until a few months ago. Embla's new leader, Veronica, overturned her mother's rule and turned her eyes – and her Heroes – on Askr."

"It doesn't take a noble bearing to mark one as a Hero," Tiki interjected, "Only great talent and skill. Thusly marked, they can be summoned and bound."

"Bound?" Rooks lashed to face her – the woman did not flinch, but for the first time since their meeting, she was not smiling. Her lips pressed together in grave silence. Her next words came with clear care.

"A contract binds all who enter into service as a Hero. A binding oath of fealty to whomever holds it."

Rooks turned to glare at Lykala's back. The man stood very still – and he was no longer talking. Tiki continued, speeding up. "The contracts Askr holds are never exploited, and they can be dissolved at the Hero's willing. It is one of the guiding tenets of the Order of Heroes. Embla has no such compunction."

"What happens when one dissolves?"

"Their service ends and they're free to do as they please."

"Meaning they can go home?"

Anna and Tiki exchanged a look. Anna nodded, and Tiki continued whilst rounding the table to face Rooks. She moved into his blind spot to do so, causing him to immediately turn and track her. "Most Heroes are recruited from their own world. Such travel has always been possible in this realm. Askrans have the power to open portals; Emblians can close them. When a contract is refused or dissolved, most Heroes are already _in_ their home realm. Lykala's summoning is different. He can call us to him, like a beacon in a storm."

"Alright," Rooks tapped his palm against the table, "So you can just open a portal to my world and I can go home. Easy."

"You'd expose your world to the horrors of Embla's reach!" Anna blurted, her contained frown finally bursting into a gout of frustration. "Weren't you listening? Only Emblians can close the portals that Askrans open. So long as we're at war, they won't do that. They'll invade your world and take whomever they can into their service!"

"I'd like to see them try," he murmured.

"How can you be so selfish!?" Anna shouted.

" _Selfish_?" Rooks snapped back, needing not the impressive volume she managed to make his point. His voice dropped into a fearsome, rasping growl. "You drag me from my home with no way to return me, ask me to fight in a war that is not mine – and then you have the _gall_ to call me selfish?"

"No-one asked you to fight." Tiki offered.

"That was the next question, wasn't it?" His fist slammed into the table. "That's why I'm here. Why your summoner can't look me in the eye. He's summoned someone you can't beguile into this godsforsaken war!"

"We had no idea the Gate would behave so! No idea that it would summon you. It's never behaved like this."

"And now he speaks!" Rooks exclaimed, whipping an arm in Lykala's direction. He saw Chrom's steeling glare in the corner, saw the way he reached for his blade. He pressed on undaunted. "Now he speaks, to make excuses. To say I'm sorry, I never meant to rip you from all you know and love, to die on some blood-soaked battlefield."

Anna's bluster failed. Lykala's gaze dropped to the floor. Only Tiki and Chrom still watched; the latter with silent judgement – the former with some twisted shade of empathy. Rooks tapped his gauntlet against the table one more time.

"I'm leaving."

No-one protested. A few minutes after the door slammed behind him, Anna cleared her throat and pushed back her fringe. "We knew that some would say no."

"Indeed," Chrom replied, "But to be so violent about it-"

"Did you _see_ him?" Anna gestured at the door. "That was probably as nice as he gets. He's fought in more wars than we've fought battles!"

"Not all of us," replied he, with a nod to Tiki, "Tiki? What do you think?"

The woman had eyes for the door, and ears for even less. Chrom cleared his throat. " _Tiki_?"

"Mm?"

"What do you think? What should we do?"

"I think he's right," she replied, matter-of-fact, "And I think he should not be abandoned to Embla."

"It's not like he's going to- Hey! Tiki!"

She barely registered Anna's yell as she pushed her way out onto the hall. Instinct told her to hook left and retrace their steps. No doubt he'd seek an open field, away from patrolling guards and any hint of the kingdom that had stolen him from hearth and home.

It did not take long; breaking into a run saw her catch up to the stormy Rooks as he broke out of the palace and made a beeline for the Gate – for the cliff beyond it. Her heart twisted. Surely not!

"Wait!"

Rooks hurled himself back towards her, spinning sharply on his heel. For one terrible moment she envisioned the cold press of his gauntlets around her throat. He did not move. He watched, eye wild, but kept rooted to the spot her call had frozen him.

Tiki dared to approach, to bridge the gap. "Wait. Please."

Rooks kept his stance clear. She hadn't realised it, but Tiki had also dropped into something of a ready stance. "You think you're going to stop me?" he challenged.

"No. I'm not here to stop you. You're right – 'twas wrong of us to summon you here, accident or no. You've been shorn from your home without permission and we don't know how to get you back." She drew to full height, eyes closing. "Words mean next to nothing to a man of your ilk – and apologies from strangers even less."

He snarled. "Don't think to presume-"

"I think to help you!" Tiki yelled, voice finally pitching above its preternatural calm. "There's naught but crags, wilderness, and Emblian scouts beyond the reaches of Askran territory. I've no doubt you can handle the first two by yourself, but at least let me fetch you some equipment for the last. Anything you need."

Like Anna before him, Rooks's rage emptied. Tiki's words struck sure and true, and given any circumstance he could not fault her logic. He took a long, slow, rattling breath. His nose filled with the scents of an alien spring, of flowers he did not know and life he could never hope to understand. "You've a good heart." He whispered, retreating from his scowl and his hunch. "And I'm sure they do too, to fight a war with such poor odds."

"They fight because they love their home – as do Chrom and I. Askr is a beautiful place." Tiki found a smile, bowed her head. "I cannot force that upon you. If you see it for yourself, perhaps…"

A rustle caught her ears. She looked back up – and Rooks was gone, with only the faintest trace of his blazing presence left to scatter on the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Chapter two! I've not put out this much content so quickly in ages. It's been fun!**

 **To those of you reading and enjoying _Realms_ , do spread the word! Cross-over fics like these need a little help in getting out there, so if you feel it's worth a recommendation or a review, do tell your friends!**

 **That said, I hope you enjoy chapter two!**

 **Edit: Apologies! Some formatting nonsense has been fixed.**

* * *

Tiki returned to the war room in silence, though the door announced her presence like it or not. Anna joined Chrom and Lykala in the corner, discussing the map. "He's gone." She announced.

"Did you find him?"

"Yes, but he would not linger. As soon as he had a chance…" Tiki trailed off. His words stuck to her like damp, causing her to fold her arms over her chest. "We made no friend of him, of that I can say with certainty. He's does not doubt the validity of the fight, only his place in it."

Anna hummed. "It can't be helped. We press on without him."

"Right. What are you discussing?"

She joined the rest of them, squeezing in between the commander and Lykala. "This is the closest gate to Askr right now," said he, directing her attention across the map. In one corner lay the borders of the kingdom they defended; a few miles off, encircled by the mass of black figures, lay the cross demarking the portal, "Legends call it the uh… Anna?"

"The World of Conquest."

"Right. Conquest."

"It sounds like Embla's kind of world," Anna complained, "We're not sure, but the concentration of troops suggests that Veronica is there. Robin's out there right now, scouting."

"Who's with him?" asked Tiki.

"Matthew," Chrom's answer gave her a measure of relief. Matthew had joined them only recently, but proved himself a fast ally and shadow within days of taking up the cause, "They should be on their way back. It's not far."

"I hope it's good news." Anna pinched her brow. "We could use some."

Lykala shifted, discomfited. Tiki placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "'Tis no fault of yours. We could not have known."

"Yeah, but-"

"Anna!" A voice echoed through the hallway, but it was too far away to recognise anything but the panic in its tone. "Anna, where are you!?"

Footsteps. Plate. Anna's face fell. "Sharena. In here!"

A young woman burst into the war room, gasping for air. Sharena's hair, usually a tight and styled bun of fine blonde, caught the wind and flew every which way. "Anna," she gasped, doubling over, "Th- thuh-"

"Steady, Princess," Tiki swooped over and supported the girl, helping her stand, "Catch your breath."

"The Gate," Sharena's words spilled over. "The Gate! What happened? The whole city saw it! Alfonse is calming the crowds, but-"

"You saw that from Askr?" Lykala's incredulity followed the rest. They all exchanged a glance. "We summoned – someone new, we don't know what world. Have you seen the Gate do that before?"

"No! Who was it? Where are they?"

"Gone," said Tiki.

" _Gone!?_ " Sharena wheeled to face her. "Gone where? Who let him go?"

"Princess!" Anna barked. "Slow down. No-one has seen the Gate behave this way before. It's natural to be frightened, but Rooks is no cause for alarm. He's an anomaly."

"An anomaly heralded by a pillar of radiant light." Chrom spoke up. His eyes trained on the black figures. "Commander, if the whole of Askr saw that light…"

No-one needed to finish that sentence. Sharena's expression dropped from panic to terror. Anna turned to Chrom. "We need to find Rooks."

"How? He's gone – and lest you forget, he spoke rather firmly about not wanting to be found."

"It's not about whether he wants it or not. If Embla finds him, he won't have a choice. Who's available?"

"Just us," Chrom placed his hands on his hips, surveying the map, "No way we could cover enough ground with just the four of us."

"Five!" Sharena protested. "Six if I grab Alfonse."

"We're not all going out there to find one man," Anna folded her arms, "That's far too much for a search-and-rescue."

"Send me." Tiki offered. All turned to her.

"That's far too dangerous."

"Why? I can cover more ground than all of you. I know which direction he started in."

"It's not exactly subtle…" Lykala murmured, pulling his robe about himself.

"We're wasting time," she pressed, "Send me. Chrom and Anna can follow on horseback. I'll find Rooks and convince him to return."

"What if Embla's already found him?" Anna offered.

"They'd need Veronica to bind the contract," answered Lykala. "If she's in the World of Conquest, that gives us some wiggle room. He'd be safe until they got her – but once he's captured…"

"I know, I know," Anna exhaled. She levelled Tiki with a look. "You're not to engage. Find him – but if he's already with Embla, you wait for Chrom and I. Understood?"

"Right."

Tiki once more rushed from the war room, taking to the summoning field. As soon as she saw sky, a bright blue stone flashed into her hand, its light engulfing her…

* * *

As days went, there had been worse.

Rooks scraped a hand over the bark of a tree, changing his path. On the one hand, he'd been ripped from his home to a world far and away from all he could ever hope to know. He'd seen much of Eorzea, but this? Askr? He boggled at the mechanisms and sheer magic force required to take one soul and rip it, unwilling, into another plane of existence. Never mind geography, this was something else entirely!

He exhaled. If it hadn't been such a rude arrival, he might have found space in his head to be impressed. "Alas," he grumbled aloud, slapping a branch overhead, "The view's not bad, at the least…"

It certainly wasn't. To describe Askr as verdant undersold the swell of life that coloured his new landscape. Trees standing tall, evergreen – were they evergreen? – in a bright, cloudless spring's sunlight, rays mottled by leaves shifting in slight breezes and the passage of life around them. The canopy offered shelter to songbirds carrying tunes, the undergrowth a home to foreign insects who had neither time nor thought to the strange new life encroaching upon their ancestral grounds. He crouched and watched a few of them struggle with a particularly large leaf, wrestling it back to their nest. Not unlike the antlings back home – though they owned far more impressive tunnels. Even as his heart sank, pining already for the land shorn from him, he found solace in the knowledge that life reached beyond his world, that another sun could gift such tranquillity to another troubled land.

Eorzea, Askr was not – but its charm he could see quite plainly, even with one eye.

He grunted, pushing off and making for the nearby clearing. His legs didn't fully co-operate with the notion, slowing his pace as he struggled to navigate broken branch and gnarled root. More than once had he stumbled on this path, always to some fool creature or crinkle in the land his natural dexterity should have accounted for. He blamed it on wonderment; not in many years had he so many new sights to take in! It filled his mind with a childish glee. What more awaited him here, in his search for a way home?

Rooks pushed through the last few steps, breaking into the clearing. Tall grass buckled underfoot, and he caught the first glimpse of clouds forming overhead. His wonderment faded into more serious thoughts; survival chief among them. The Order made mention of Embla, and even if he strayed from the conflict, a confrontation was nigh-inevitable if he intended to find a way home. "Enough daydreaming," he murmured, holding out a hand and focussing on his splayed fingertips.

Silence. A breeze danced lazily through the joints of his armour. Rooks stopped focussing, beginning to stare at his hand.

Perhaps, he mused, he should have been slightly more patient with Tiki. He dismissed the thought with a grunt, affirmed himself, and scrunched his eyes…

…Nothing. The light dipped as something passed over the sun. Rooks scrunched his brow, his face, contorting his scars into a monstrous visage of agitation. "Come on. Come on… Grgh!"

Nothing! He swung his hand down with a curse, throwing himself down into the grass. Where could he find a weapon, if his were out of reach? The city, Askr? No money, and having _two_ kingdoms after him seemed like a worse idea than just the apparent threat of one.

Return to the Order? That had its strings. Not a chance. Another gust washed over him, fighting through wrapped cloth and a buttoned-down traveller's shirt. "No matter." He huffed. He'd figure it out, surely.

A shadow covered the sun. He took a breath, waited for it to pass… except when it didn't. Quite the cloud, he mused as the shadow kept on. He opened an eye.

"Rooks." Tiki smiled down at him.

Calmed from his abrupt arrival, he had neither the heart nor the energy to startle in response to hers. Rooks only exhaled, burdened. "I said you had a good heart. Accounting for your damnable persistence, I take that back."

"May I join you?" Her smile warmed, even as it cast a shadow over him.

"Is my refusal going to stop you?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid."

He sat up as she made good on her threat, scooping her cape and drawing her legs underneath her. "How are you finding Askr?" she asked, edging into her curiosity.

"Stop." Rooks grunted. "It's been scarcely a bell since I told you lot to leave me be. What do you want?"

She commented not on the unusual measurement, merely tipping her head to recognise it. "I do not wish to recruit you."

"Then…" Rooks's eye did more than enough accusing to make up for his trailing words. How quickly he sharpened from his relaxation, thought Tiki. She folded gloved hands in her lap.

"Askr witnessed the light that heralded your summoning. It caused something of a stir."

"And?"

"If it was enough to disturb the gentle souls of the kingdom, what do you think it might have stirred in any Emblian scouts in the region?"

His brow pinched. "How did you find me? Is that another part of the contract?"

"No – only my intuition. It's rather easy to find a man who chooses to hide in an open field."

"You got me there. So, what – you're here to protect me?"

"This isn't your war, as you rightly say." Tiki closed her eyes. Part of her waited to hear the rustle of him fleeing, but it didn't come. "I come with a promise of shelter and aid from the grasp of those who would use your strength for their own advantage."

"Is that not what Askr wants?" he returned, dry.

Tiki's smile flickered. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"I can at least thank you for the warning," he sighed, standing, "But I'll be fine. I've dealt with worse than soldiers and bandits."

Her voice carried after the steps he took to leave. "It's your legs, isn't it?"

Rooks turned. "My what?"

"Your legs." She dusted her cape as she stood, following after him. She crossed the field with ease, as if the land itself bowed to grant her passage. "They won't listen. Not properly. I saw you stumble at the Gate."

"So?"

"There was nothing for you to trip on."

"Lest you forget – I _was_ just stolen from another world. That tends to disorient, last time I checked." Not that he was a leading expert, but Rooks forced the point with as much authority as he could muster.

"It's more than that." Tiki shook her head, arms folding. "It's a fatiguing of the spirit we call summoning sickness. Mages get it the worst. They can barely cast for a time after their arrival. Exhaustion, disorientation… minor symptoms. Robin was bedridden for a full day after his summoning."

She saw his fist coil and knew she'd hit the mark. She pressed the point. "Even if you carry the strength and skill in you to overwhelm a full legion of soldiers, you will find it hard so soon after your arrival, to say nothing of your lack of weapons."

Rooks opened his mouth to retort. Coming up short, he ground his teeth together and tried again. "Aye. You didn't think to tell me this earlier?"

"Your aggression rather preoccupied us."

Again, his mouth opened. Again, he found nothing. "Fair. What now?"

Tiki sighed. At least he had sense enough to concede an argument. "We get you back to the palace – at least until we know the danger's passed. This war is no fight of yours, but-"

A shape ripped past the pair of them, whistling as it went. Rooks pressed a hand to his cheek, examining the warm dew of a cut. Both turned. Another arrow barely missed them – and the archer already had another nocked.

"Embla!" Tiki hissed. She seized Rooks by the wrist and tore towards the brush. Rooks, startled by her strength or too busy cursing out the pain, didn't protest until they hit the brush and ducked behind the trunk of an old oak.

"What was that for? I can run by myself!"

"Are you in the habit of arguing every decision one makes?" Tiki's eyes blazed. "Now is not the time!"

Rooks scowled and wrenched his hand from her grasp. He edged around the tree and tried to peer into the clearing. "I count three. No, four. Just the one archer."

Tiki poked her head around the other side. Four, like he'd counted – two with swords rattling as they made for the trees. "We don't have long," she breathed, "I can cover your escape."

"What?"

"This isn't your fight," she said, "Not then, not now. I can protect you."

"With what?"

"Rooks!" Her exasperation tangled with her dread, bubbling over in a fearsome hiss. She glared at the man. He matched her ferocity.

"I'm not leaving you to die. What do you take me for?"

The troops' voices carried through the wood, drawing nearer. "I can't ask you to fight." Tiki whispered.

"You're not," he replied, poking his head out, "They started it. Got a weapon?"

She watched him draw to full height, readying himself. He coiled to spring, like a jackal scenting prey. She saw neither discipline nor style in his stance; only savagery born of experience. "In a manner of speaking."

"Good. On my mark."

She stood with him, clutching her stone. One breath. Silence…

A song of steel cut through the woods as the swordsmen cut their way to the pair. She checked his hand. One finger. Two…

"Now!" Rooks lunged from cover with a roar. He slammed into the nearest scout, crushing his throat with a blow made heavy by his gauntlets. Tiki whipped around the other side, gathering energy in the crystal she clutched. So distracted was he by the ambush, her target didn't see the spark until it jumped from her hand, arcing to his armour and into flesh. He crumpled.

Rooks wrestled the blade from his opponent. He dropped low, throwing the startled sap over his shoulder and running him through in one expert motion, and silence returned to the forest. He pulled the sword free, finally getting a good look at them. Black and pale gold armour, carrying motifs much like Askr's with their thick, criss-crossing lines and long capes. He looked to Tiki, standing triumphant. What was it with this realm and capes? "You good?"

"As I can be."

"You're a mage?"

She looked to the stone, and he followed her eyes. She clasped a pale blue, faceted crystal that hummed with residual energy. "After a fashion, yes."

"What does that mean?"

"Need I remind you that these two were not alone?" She offered, nodding to the clearing.

They moved up, Rooks clasping the longsword he'd wrenched from his foe. Sturdy, solid iron. Nothing fancy, but it would do. Two remained; the archer who'd alerted them and one whom he assumed to be the captain. He held an axe as tall as he in both hands, watching the treeline from behind a full helm and thick plate. "Well, you've got the big one." He murmured.

"I do, do I?" asked Tiki.

"You're the mage, sort of. I don't stand a chance with this toothpick."

"Right." She huffed.

Rooks thrummed, rasping as he considered the situation. They hadn't moved, perhaps waiting for them having heard their comrades fall. The archer kept an arrow nocked but hadn't drawn. They wore light armour to maintain that draw strength. "Getting close will be tricky. What's the range on that focus of yours?"

"My focus?"

"Your stone."

"Oh. I could strike from here, but it won't do much."

"Aye. We can't break cover without one of us getting shot – he's ready now. A distraction would be nice…"

Tiki paused. She stared at her stone. "I can provide one."

"What, by getting shot? Don't be daft." Rooks looked to her, eye harsh.

"Trust me. Just be ready to move."

"Trust you? Seriously?"

"You trusted me to take care of the other warrior." Tiki returned. She'd found her smile again. "Trust me now."

Rooks pursed his lips. He turned his attention back to the Emblians. "Alright."

Tiki stood, taking a few steps away from the man. "Move as soon as they see me."

"Don't get shot."

She breathed a laugh, holding the stone to her breast. Light began to swell and engulf her. "I'll try."

Rooks resisted the urge to watch, knowing that the light would blind him to the battle to come. He felt the surge of magic and the explosion of wind that marked the completion of whatever she'd planned.

The archer looked first, dropping his arrow and pointing skyward. "S-sir!"

Rooks lunged. He tore across the field with a burst of strength, sprinting with his blade pointed straight at the distracted archer. Neither he nor his captain noticed until it was too late. Rooks snarled as the grim familiarity of flesh giving out caused the archer to scream – briefly.

"You!" roared the captain. His axe lifted. He faced Rooks. He tried to pull his sword free, but…!

A roar that was not his own spat a chorus of lightning. Bolts snapped and tore into the captain, searing the grass in line either side of him. Like his men, he fell – and Rooks could only watch as he saw the form of Tiki's distraction.

A green dragon beat wide, translucent wings as it landed. Its scales caught the light and glistened like emeralds in firelight, a narrow head turning back to check on Rooks. He looked to the trees, trying to see the woman who must have summoned the creature. "Tiki!"

"Yes?"

His eyes snapped back to the dragon. It half-bounded, half-glided towards him, coming to rest a few feet away. Up close it resembled more sea creature than any great lord of the skies, and it moved with similar grace.

"Where are you? Riding…?" But he saw no saddle.

She barely restrained her laugh. "Not quite."

"Where are you?"

Light once more engulfed the drake, and it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Tiki floated down, cape draping over her as she came to rest. She caught Rooks gawping. "Never seen a dragon before?"

"I've seen plenty of dragons!" He blurted, gesturing wildly. "Never seen 'em change into beautiful women before! How did you do that? How did you keep your clothes?"

"You think me beautiful?"

" _That's_ what you respond to?" Rooks snapped. He sniffed, catching a whiff of the roasted Emblian captain and remembered their circumstances. "Can you see any more?"

Tiki chanced a look around. "It appears we are safe. The vanguards usually move in small groups to cover more ground. Are you hurt?"

"Fine here. You?"

"I am whole." They shared a glance. She saw the barest glimpse of relief in the flicker of a smile on the man. "You fought well."

"You're a dragon." Rooks repeated. He'd left the blade buried in the archer.

"Yes. I'm a dragon. We call ourselves manaketes."

"Manaketes…" He turned the word over in his mind. She saw his eye shift as he considered her, looking her up and down as if they'd just met, and smiled.

"Ah. It appears the cavalry has arrived."

Rooks turned in the direction she pointed and saw the white of Askran uniforms. Anna rushed towards them on a brown mare, Chrom lagging just behind. She gripped an axe in her off-hand. "Didn't peg you for an axe lady." Rooks noted, gesturing.

"What did I say?" Anna yelled, dismounting with a skilful swing of her leg. She pointed at Tiki. "I said 'don't engage'!"

"They left us with rather few options," Tiki returned, matter-of-fact, "Rooks handled the situation very well."

"She's a dragon," Rooks repeated, again. The thought seemed lodged in him, as if one of the arrows had struck true. "Which, uh. Gave us an advantage."

"I bet!" Anna exclaimed. "We saw you fly, and so did every other pair of bloody eyes near here!"

"They would have seen me searching for Rooks."

"That's how you found me?" Tiki nodded. "Huh. Explains the wind."

Anna puffed her cheeks out. "Tiki, get back to the palace with Chrom. And you!"

"And me?" Rooks arched a brow as she swung to face him.

Anna's ire dissipated. "Sorry. You, yes- will you be returning with us, or will I be sending her out to find you again in a few hours?"

The wound on his cheek smarted. A shallow thing, but reminder enough of Embla's pursuit. Still holding the encounter in his head, and with the knowledge that a dragon could swoop down and find him wherever he went, Rooks bowed his head. "Lead on."

Anna barely masked her relief, shoulders slumping. "Thank the gods."

* * *

Chrom led the group back to the palace, circling and searching for any hint of Emblians seeking to avenge their fallen. They found none, and soon the high walls of Askran royalty welcomed them home.

Rooks lagged behind, considering his situation. Accepting their aid meant he owed them. Owed Tiki, at the very least. He caught her attention as they pushed into the hall, and she fell into step with him. "Listen," he began, clearing his throat, "Thanks."

"Whatever for?"

"The hells do you mean? Finding me."

She smiled, lips curling. How did one of such strength hold such warmth? "I should be thanking you for fighting at my side."

"Ah…" He scratched the back of his neck. "I couldn't leave you to face them alone."

"I know."

"And besides – wouldn't it be worse if they got their hands on a… manakete, was it? Bit more valuable than a common man."

"A man you might be," she breathed, "But common, you are most certainly not. How's your wound?"

"This?" He pointed at his cheek. "I've had worse."

"I can see that. Anna, did you bring any vulneraries?"

"Here." The commander passed a small pouch back. Tiki turned to face Rooks, causing him to stop.

"May I?"

"May you what?"

"Your wound," she nodded, "You're familiar with the practise of medicine, I trust?"

He shot her an unimpressed look. "Fine."

Tiki opened the bag, revealing a collection of various herbs and flasks. She located and opened a small, plump phial filled with a paste. Rooks wrinkled his nose. "It only smells foul, I promise."

"Give me a conjurer any day. Don't you have a healer?"

"Not to hand. Are you content to keep bleeding in the halls of Askran royalty?" Tiki mused. She didn't let him answer, for his reaction suggested that he didn't much care, and stepped forward to apply the paste using her finger. "'Tis the guise of bravery that typifies your kind."

"What, warriors?"

"No," she teased, "Boys."

"Oi!"

"Keep still."

Rooks did so, rolling his eye. She worked the paste over the cut, and already the magicks ground into the concoction began to stitch his mangled skin together. Up close, she could see the pale skin masked by countless cuts and carven valleys, though she dared not press to uncover the black cloth wrapping the left half of his face. "There," she said, satisfied, "Better."

"Better. Where are you taking me?"

"We were headed back to the war room," Anna answered, having stopped part ways back. "You've no obligation to come. Tiki can show you to a room – it's in the barracks so it's not quite as luxurious, but there's a bed and a change of clothes if you need them."

"That'd be good," Rooks rumbled, feeling again the fatigue of his normally tireless body. Since when did one fight exhaust him so? "I could use the rest."

"Alright. Tiki?"

"Of course. This way."

She guided him out of the hall and across the courtyard. From there, they made a straight-ish route towards the barracks, a large facility built into the east of the structure. Once more, Rooks caught himself searching for someone, anyone besides those he'd already met.

"Where are the servers? Surely the royals have some kind of staff to keep the building tended?"

"Most are preparing to welcome the other Heroes home. You can join us at the meal, if you wish. It's been quite a while since we've all been together at once."

They passed an armoury, a spacious hall with dummies and targets lined up at the far end – and finally a long hall, full of evenly spaced and sized chambers. There, finally, they were greeted by an aging butler who handed Tiki a key, which she in turn offered to Rooks. "Your room, for as long as you have need of it."

He accepted it, nodding. "Not too long, I hope."

"Indeed. If there's naught else, I'll be returning to the others to report on the battle. Shall I collect you for the meal?"

Rooks stared at the key, pondering. She watched the conflict of his decision play out in his shifting expression. A frown, a wince; a volatile cocktail of discomfort. "I don't ask you to fight, only to meet your fellow Heroes. They will be glad to see a new face."

"Maybe." He replied, looking up. "Alright."

"Alright," Tiki repeated, her words soft. "Rest well."

Off she went. Rooks watched her leave. "Oi – Tiki."

"Yes?" She turned in time to see his weathered frown lightened by another decision; one that teased the corners of his mouth up ever so slightly.

"It's Averill. Averill Rooks. That's my name."

She warmed fully, eyes lighting for a moment before they closed, making space for a broader smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Averill Rooks of Eorzea. See you later."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Chapter Three! I don't know how well I'm going to be able to keep to this pace - 12,000 words in my spare hours at the end of a full-time job. It's been a refreshing break.**

 **I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a series veteran of Fire Emblem. I've played Awakening, Fates and an obscene amount of Heroes. I'm researching as best I can to keep things coherent and lore-abiding, but please be patient if I miss a detail or get a name slightly wrong.**

 **That said, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Averill closed the armoire, content with his selection, and looked around his new room.

If Anna considered this 'not as luxurious', he wondered what the palace's chambers looked like. Whomever designed the space had a clear mind for function, with a large feather bed and long table taking up most of the usable space. An empty weapons rack sat by the window and, next to it, a chest of dark wood large enough to fit a suit of armour. Thick walls blocked out sound from the rest of the building – though given how empty it was when he'd arrived, that design would surely be tested over the coming days.

He undressed, tossing his Eorzean clothes in a heap at the foot of the bed to clean later. Placing his gauntlets in the armour chest and locking it, he opened the armoire again to use the mirror.

A tired soul stared back at him. He kept the woven fabrics that bound his left side – face, chest, shoulder and arm. Averill's shoulders slumped, weighted by the exhaustion of his summoning sickness. When did he ever get tired? How long had it been since he'd felt so weak?

He took a breath, tearing from the notion. Tiki told him that it had been a full day before one of their mages recovered, and only a scant handful of bells had passed since his arrival. Time – healer of all things. If he didn't feel better upon the morn, there'd be a problem. If he was to fight…

Averill looked to his hands. Those wretched things warped by worse than any natural injury. He'd helped to kill four men in such a short time; how many more would he face before he found safe passage home?

Someone knocked on the door. "Just a moment," he rasped, throwing his new clothes on. A plain shirt and dark slops. He squeezed his hands into gloves meant for normal hands, leather squeaking in complaint. "Come in."

The handle rattled. Averill sighed, unlocked it and pulled. The force of this dragged the poor soul attached to the handle with it, sending them stumbling into the room with a startled yelp. He apologised as he took the stranger in. Blonde hair in a tight, braided bun. A simple tunic of cream and gold, the kind one would wear armour over, with plated thighboots. Fresh from the battlefield. Averill apologised. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Scared me," Sharena placed a hand over her chest, turning with a grin as bright and broad as the light that summoned him. He resisted the urge to wince. "Tiki told me you were here, thought I'd come say hi to our new guest. I'm Sharena, Princess of Askr. You're Rooks, right?"

"Royalty in the barracks?" asked he, scratched the back of his neck, "Should I bow or something?"

"Not at all! We're all in the Order." She offered hers. Averill slowly accepted, grip light and awkward thanks to his gloves. "To Askr, I'm a princess. To our comrades, I'm just that – a comrade."

"You're fighting?"

"Yep! Up at the front." Averill appraised her with a quick glance. He couldn't see a mark on her, noting either exceptional skill or a woeful lack of experience. Given her smile, he assumed the latter.

"I see," he murmured, muted.

Sharena's expression stumbled, and she retracted her hand. Realising that he wouldn't continue the conversation, she pushed on. "How are you finding the barracks?"

"They'll suffice," said he, gesturing to the room, "Everything a soldier needs, right?"

"I want to take a room here, but father insists I keep to the palace."

"Does he?"

"Yeah," she deflated, "He's not overly keen on our decision to fight."

"Our?"

"My brother and I. We both fight and represent the Order."

"I can see why your father worries."

"He shouldn't!" Sharena rebuked, with a restrained stomp and assertive flick of her arms. "We're surrounded by Heroes, and I've trained with the best of them. He's got nothing to worry about!"

"He's your father," Averill said again, distractedly fidgeting with his gloves, "If you die, he's down a daughter and an heir. Think he'd cope with that?"

"He won't have to."

Averill gave an apathetic grunt. Sharena caught her breath from her outburst, loosening her stance. She worried the hem of her tunic.

"Was there something you needed?" asked he.

"Oh. No, uh…" She looked at and around him. Perhaps she wasn't used to having nothing to say. "Will you be joining us this evening?"

"Aye."

"Good!" His tone had sapped her enthusiasm. "That's good. Then – then I'll see you there. We're already gathering, if you want to come…?"

"I'll be along in my own time. Good day, princess."

"Okay." He saw her confusion, but Sharena soon hid behind a turned back as she hastened from the room with a decidedly forced, "See you there!"

In her hurry, she left the door open. Averill made sure to lock it again.

* * *

"The gloves aren't necessary."

Tiki and Averill strolled out of the barracks. She'd swapped her field attire out for something more befitting the occasion; a longer, darker red gown with a matching, embroidered shawl. He picked at his clothes, feeling more like a grizzled servant than a companion, and fidgeted with his gloves most of all to keep them snug. "Averill?"

"Hm?"

"The gloves."

"Oh, no. They're fine."

She smiled and, ever patient, shifted the conversation along. "Most of us have already gathered. I hope you don't mind if they've already started – we don't tend to stand on ceremony."

"You've certainly dressed for a ceremony."

"I've very few opportunities to do so. What do you think?"

"It's…" he looked at her properly. "Fine."

"Like your gloves?"

"Just- fine." He harrumphed, to her amusement. "What?"

"I can see why Sharena struggled with you."

"She told you?"

"She didn't need to," Tiki turned left rather abruptly, causing him to quicken for a step, "Sharena's warmth is well-known in the Order. 'Tis her principle to be a friend to all. That she met such stiff resistance with you…"

"Ah."

"Not that I was surprised. It isn't often you meet one who hides behind their family name."

As she spoke, Averill recalled that Sharena had referred to him as 'Rooks'. "You haven't told them?"

"Should I have?"

"No." His words tripped and failed him. Who _was_ this woman, to read him so effortlessly?

"I can't promise secrecy forever, of course. If another overhears, for example."

"Aye."

They reached the entrance to another hall. He'd been so focussed on keeping step that Averill couldn't begin to envision the route back to the barracks. Conversation, warmth and a full arsenal of delicious aromas bled through the ajar doors. "Would you like me to introduce you?" Tiki offered, leaning against the door. Her eyes flickered with excitement, and for this Averill nodded.

She pushed her way into the hall. He shuffled in behind her, once more tugging his gloves back into place. "Mayhap I should have stuck to the gauntlets…"

"Come now. You can't wear armour to a meal." Tiki laughed, waving to the smattering of greetings that the crowd slung their way. Averill counted them – five, six, seven… just under a dozen different faces greeted him. True to her word, a splendid array of meals and dishes covered the length of the table they'd all congregated around, leaving two others abandoned.

The Order of Heroes, he mused. Perhaps not at their finest hour.

"There you are." Chrom rose and strode over to them. He, too, had discarded his cape. Perhaps they were a combat standard in this world? "Good to see you both."

"And you. Rooks," Tiki swapped to deftly to the name he'd chosen, "You've already met Chrom."

"Hardly," said the man, offering a hand. Averill shook it, firm, "Chrom. Back home, I'm a Shepherd to the people of Ylisse."

"Still don't see the crook," Averill quipped.

"Hah, yes. It's a rather more involved job than simple herding. Shepherds defend the people from malicious interests. Brigands, mainly." Chrom released his grasp. "Please, come and sit. It's the least we can offer for how you fought with us today. Tiki told us of your skills with a blade."

"I know which bit's the pointy end." He shrugged, ceding to the will of the room and joining them at the table. Tiki took to his left and spent most of her time pointing out various faces. He knew some already, briefly greeting a nervous Sharena and a curiously inscrutable Anna. Lykala took a seat on his side, surrounded by a youth dressed much like the princess and a copper-haired man still dressed for the road, complete with travelling cloak and light leather bracers. "Alfonse and Matthew," Tiki explained, noting his gaze. There were more names and lots of greetings exchanged, though he had neither the will nor the energy to commit them to memory. Only one more stood out, for how he seemed to watch him for the entirety of the meal. A silver-haired, youngish man Averill marked for his discerning eyes. He expertly juggled his meal, his vigil, and a large tome, and wore a black cloak that seemed to swallow him whole, much like Lykala's robes.

"Who's that?" Averill asked, alerting Tiki. She dabbed her mouth.

"Robin, one of the Order's tacticians."

"That mage you mentioned?"

"One and the same. He's Ylissean, like Chrom."

Averill turned to Chrom. "Is he always like that?"

"He has to be," Chrom replied, pushing his plate to one side, "He's an intellect like none I've ever seen. Reads the battlefield as well as you or I can swing a blade – that includes the troops he deploys. His staring, though…"

Chrom distracted Robin with a wave. As if waking from a daydream, Robin snapped out of it and smiled sheepishly, devoting himself fully to his tome. "He's just trying to get a read on you, like the rest of us. Your summoning was rather unique."

"So I've been told. You were all summoned here?"

"Mostly. Alfonse, Anna and Sharena are all Askran," Tiki spoke up, counting down the table, "Lykala arrived through a means different to summoning, but even he's not sure how it happened. I believe Felicia was in service to the Order before he arrived, thinking on it…"

"Felicia?"

"You'll probably see her later, in the course of her duties."

Averill hummed, arching a brow. "And you're all… fine with it?"

Tiki's head tipped. "I'm not sure 'fine' is the correct word, but we've come to terms. A few of us are quite used to such unusual happenings."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

He watched each face in turn. Bar the natives, they'd all been ripped from another world, another life. Yet here they sat, at ease and engaged with their fellow Heroes as easily as one might sit down with family.

Averill jolted from his reverie. The scrape of a chair caught his ear as Chrom rose, mug in hand, and called for quiet. "Friends! Friends, please – a moment. It's been far too long since we broke bread as one, and I'm loath to monopolize that time-"

"No, you're not!" called Anna, next to Robin. She'd swapped her hard gaze out for a slightly tipsy jeer. Laughter washed over to the group.

"Alright, alright! I'll make this quick, for you've one and all fought hard and well these past weeks. Even the newest amongst us, who I'm sure you'll welcome as warmly as you have every Hero who graces our halls."

Averill stiffened as Chrom's hand clapped down on his shoulder. He continued without asking him to stand, to immense relief. "Each of us has given their all to free Askr from Embla's rage. We stand and fight every day to keep this kingdom safe – though not all of us return to celebrate our victories."

Revelation crashed down upon Averill as hard as the sobriety hit those who listened to Chrom's speech. He raised his mug. "For those who have fought. For those we can yet save."

"For those we can yet save," came the sombre response. All drank – except Averill, who watched the display with newfound respect. He looked to Tiki, who had her head bowed and eyes closed in apparent prayer. He dared not interrupt.

He cursed himself. This was a war, after all...

* * *

"So!" Chrom announced, carrying across the hall. Plates had been picked clean and removed by the staff, and a few had already retired for the night. Two groups yet remained; Averill, Chrom, Tiki and Anna at one end of the table; Robin, Lykala, and Matthew at the opposite end. "You've asked a thousand questions about each of us, yet you've spoken nary a word about yourself. Time you returned the favour, Rooks?"

Averill hid behind his mug. "There's not much to say."

"What?" Anna shook her head. "Not a chance – in this room filled with people from every realm, near and far, you don't get away with 'there's not much to say'. What's your home called?"

"Eorzea."

"See! That's a start! What's Eorzea like?"

Averill mused on this. How _could_ one encapsulate the country? How could he best convey the reach of its lands or the splendour of its wilds? "It's… big."

"Big." Anna deadpanned.

"Big."

"And…?"

"And…" Averill fished for another word. "Broad."

Anna slumped, defeated. Tiki laughed, sipping from a wine glass. "As the man said before, you're simply not asking the right questions."

Averill shot her a narrow glance.

It bounced right off her. Unperturbed, she asked. "When we first met, you asked if I was 'Elezen'. What does that mean?"

He motioned to his ears, holding fingers out to where Tiki's would have ended on his head. "One of the peoples of Eorzea. You're too short to be one, anyway."

"Peoples? More than one?" asked Anna.

"Aye. There're six races."

"Six?"

"How many do you have?"

"Well, humans… I'd never seen a manakete before Tiki…"

"Huh." At Tiki's prompting, Averill told them of Eorzea's people; of the Hyur, plentiful and adaptable; of the proud Elezen and the nomadic Miqo'te; of the crafty, diminutive Lalafell and the fearsome, mountainous Roegadyn; and last, the scaled Au Ra from distant lands.

"You're a hyur, then?" Chrom confirmed.

"Hyuran, aye. Born and bred."

"I wonder how that differs from human…"

"It _looks_ like all the parts are in the right places." Averill pondered, comparing himself briefly to the man, "Though I'm not exactly the best reference."

"How did you manage to survive all those wounds?" Anna wondered.

"Would you like my answer chronologically or alphabetically?" He cracked a grin, which did not escape Tiki. "Honestly, 'tis dumb luck and grit that saw me through my worst nights."

"You must be quite the veteran."

Averill looked at Chrom. "Veteran? Not in the slightest. Most of these are from monsters."

"Monsters? Like wolves and bears?" This earned a laugh and further tales. Tiki listened intently, watching life return to the rasping man as he spoke about Eorzea's wilds. He told them of morbols, the ambulant carnivorous plants that paralyzed prey with sickening gas, regaled them with the time he hunted bandersnatches, great felid beasts smart enough to wield magic, and every time Chrom pressed for details or Anna expressed disbelief, a little more of his warmth surfaced. A transformation took over the sullen man, now all too keen to share the wonders of a world beyond their imagining.

He made no mention of dragons, which caught her own curiosity.

"It sounds beautiful," she whispered, bringing Averill's eye to her. He was smiling, troubles forgotten in the warmth of welcome company – and she smiled in turn, head listing.

"Oh, it is. 'Tis more than beasts and men, 'tis…" he trailed off as Anna struggled to stifle a yawn. "'Tis perhaps a tale for another sun."

"Quite." Chrom caught the commander's yawn and rose. "We can continue this tomorrow. What a wondrous place you've come from, Rooks! I should like to hear more."

Only the slightest flicker of hesitation held his tongue. Averill nodded; both Chrom and Anna excused themselves, and with their departure, the remaining two realised that the others had also long since retired. "How time flies," he rasped.

"Indeed," Tiki, too, yawned. "Sleepy…"

"I meant not to keep you."

"It's of no matter. We're all headed back to the Barracks. Besides," her eyes gleamed, "You've not spoken so much, or so fondly, since arriving."

Thusly confronted, Averill cleared his throat and looked away. "Someone asked the right questions."

"That they did." She turned her wine glass, rolled the last droplets of crimson about. "They're good people. Kinder and truer comrades I haven't met since Mar-Mar."

"Who?"

Averill caught the tiniest flash of pink dancing across her cheeks. "An old friend. Very old."

"Back in Archanea?"

"He was Altean – an island off the mainland."

"What a curious name." Averill whispered. "Mar-Mar, was it?"

"Please," Tiki urged, setting her glass down, "'Twas a childish name for him. I was very young when we met."

"And he wasn't?"

"He was by human standards, I suppose."

"What does that mean?"

Tiki closed her eyes. "How old do you think I am?"

Averill found himself studying her more closely. He hadn't had enough to drink to answer straightforwardly, answering her question with a grin. "I'm not falling for that trap. Never guess a woman's age."

"Humour me. How old?"

He considered her again, the silence of the hall leaving nothing but her to focus on. Soft skin, slender frame. Nary a scar or a scratch on her. A voice like an evening breeze and eyes like a forest in the full swing of life – but also old like the trees at the heart of those woods. Neither gnarled nor twisted, but strong, proud eyes. The eyes that witnessed historic things between slow blinks. "If I had to guess," Averill ventured, "You've seen something close to twenty-five summers, by your looks. But you're a dragon – sorry, a manakete – so…"

"So…?" Tiki turned to face him, drawing her legs slightly up onto the bench. He'd come to rest on his hand, his uncovered eye fixed firmly on her.

"I'm guessing you've seen slightly more than that?"

"Slightly more, yes," said she, "When I met him, I had seen slightly more than a millennium."

Averill balked. "You what?"

"'Tis true."

"And you were a child of that age?"

"Indeed." Was it marvel or disbelief she could see in him?

"Blimey…" Averill looked away, scratching the back of his head. "Your parents must have had a time raising you."

"I wouldn't know."

"You…" A pang of empathy stopped him short. "I see. Sorry."

"It's alright."

They lapsed into silence, neither willing to move first. Averill heard the sputter of a torch struggle to keep alight. "How old are you now?"

Tiki reclaimed her smile, though reverie yet haunted her and shrank its warmth. "That I will keep to myself."

"Oh, come on! You can't pull that!"

"I can, and I will." Tiki slid from the bench and checked her gown over. Averill followed suit. "Now, I suppose we should be retiring with the rest of them."

"Aye." His arms folded. The thought of the night ahead threatened his smile.

"Something the matter?"

"Hm?" He blinked. She was as curious about people as he was about this new land, for better or worse. He cleared his throat. "No, no. Just…"

Tiki let him trail off, seeing if he would elaborate. When he didn't, she bowed her head. "Come. Let's get to bed."

They walked in silence, kept warm by the meal and the memory of their conversation. Averill didn't focus on the route, realizing that the hall they'd occupied was not the standard for the Order, saved instead for special occasions like their larger reunions. How many times had they celebrated in that hall, he wondered?

More importantly, as Chrom's speech surfaced from the back of his mind. How many times had they grieved?

"Averill?" Tiki spoke. They'd arrived at the barracks, standing at the entrance to the living quarters. Looking down the hall, he counted enough lights for all but three of their number. Alfonse and Sharena – who was the third? "Averill."

"Aye? Sorry." She stared at him, her expression most curious. Tiki lingered on the boundary of warmth and sorrow, weaving her fingers together and holding them in front of her as if to keep herself from overstepping, holding herself in place.

"I realise we've spoken at length about your intentions in Askr – and I wish not to force the issue. I'd hoped, maybe, if you met the Heroes fighting here… that if you fought alongside them…"

He pinched the corner of his mouth together, lungs rattling with a slow breath. "I saw first-hand today the reach of Embla, and the threat they pose. Not just to Askr, but to me. To you." Another breath, an inhale to steel himself for the words that followed. "I'd be a far lesser man if I allowed such horror to go unchecked."

"Then you'll fight?"

"If it helps us all get home." He added, hardening. "We don't belong here, Tiki. Not you or Chrom or any of 'em. The Order will have my blade until we find a way back to our own worlds. Understand?"

Tiki nodded, sobering from an outburst of joy. "Of course. It is more than any of us can ask of you. I'll let the others know tomorrow."

"I'll do it," said he, smiling quietly. He reached across to touch her shoulder, his glove clutching to muted warmth. "You've done more than enough for me already."

"Perhaps. We shall see – good night, Averill. Rest well."

Averill bade her goodnight and withdrew to his own room. He stared at the bed, and the pile of clothes crumpled at its feet. Rest…

"Rest, indeed."

It would be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Thank you for the kind words so far! I'm glad you've all been enjoying _Realms_ as much as I've enjoyed writing it.**

 **I won't keep you - here's chapter four!**

* * *

Sunrise found Averill returning from a walk, a bundle of sodden clothes resting in a basket he'd appropriated with the permission of the same aging gentleman who'd supplied the key to his room. Despite protestations that his gear could be handled by those better suited to the task, he'd insisted. "Not like there's aught else to do during these ungodly hours."

He greeted that same man with a nod and a gruff word of thanks upon his return, to which he offered some minor muttering about propriety. Halfway through asking the butler where he might hang his garb, a door down the hall opened.

Chrom strolled out, fully dressed and equipped. He noticed Averill first, wandering over. "You're up early."

"That I am," he lied, having not slept a wink, "As are you."

"Indeed. Took some getting used to, but without Frederick to keep me on schedule, I had to adjust."

Seeing his opportunity, the butler all but yanked the basket from Averill's hands, insisting that he take care of them whilst the Heroes discussed matters of greater import. How sleeping schedules managed to outrank hygiene, Averill couldn't fathom, but his alarmed swearing sparked a laugh between them. "Please, forgive him. He hasn't much to do."

"There's not many of you to watch after," Averill concurred, "I'd wager that'd drive any servant of the house to tears in the tedium."

Chrom's stance shifted. Resisting the urge to cross his arms, he instead settled a hand on his scabbard and brought the other up to cover a cleared throat. "Indeed. I was about to stretch and get in my morning drills. If you're interested, a sparring partner makes such things more engaging."

"My domestic desires have been stolen from me," said Averill, exhaling, "So aye, that sounds like a plan. I could use the practise."

"Not by Tiki's telling."

"That was in the heat of it – and 'twas barely a fight. We had the element of surprise."

Chrom's lips curled. "Let us see if I can present more of a challenge."

They made their way to the armoury first, stopping only to check if the hall wasn't already in use. "I'd be amazed if it was," Chrom murmured, "But then, I do hope to be surprised one day."

"Late risers?"

"No – we are exceptionally early birds, by the look of it. I know Tiki to sleep in. The siblings, too. What do you prefer?"

Averill searched the armoury. "Axes are always pretty handy. Stick any blade in my hand, and I'll manage."

"What of the lance? The bow?"

"The lance is a pointy stick. Breaks easy. The bow, well." He turned to make a brief demonstration of his bound face.

"Ah. Apologies."

"Mm. That said…" Averill found something suitable; a pair of smaller throwing axes with rounded beards. "These look good."

"Not for the match."

"No, no…" He swung them once, twice, checked the balance with a few flicks and spins. "Aye. These'll suffice."

"You're a natural."

"I'm experienced. Lotta problems in the wilds you can solve with a good axe. Can I…?" Averill made to stash them on his belt.

"Help yourself. The armoury's open to any Hero. Shall we?"

Chrom led the way back to the training hall. Here they found wooden practise weapons. "Would you like an axe?"

"I'll have what you're having."

He caught the wooden longsword tossed his way, ill-fit gloves squeaking as he once more gauged his weapon. "I needn't ask if you've used one before?"

Averill scoffed. "Any rules?"

"Avoid the face and following through. We're here to stretch, not maim." Chrom span his blade, taking up a traditional stance; both hands on the grip, feet apart, one breath to settle himself into the fight. He checked Averill over.

The hyur had barely shifted. His feet settled slightly further apart, but his blade hung loosely in his left hand, turned away from the man. "Are you ready?" he checked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," assured Averill, a clear spark in his usual rasp. He beckoned. "Come on. Let's see how the Shepherd handles a sword."

Chrom sighed. "You might be the first non-knight I've sparred with in Askr."

"Really?" Averill advanced. Chrom held his ground.

"Alfonse, Anna, Sain, Sharena." He counted each in turn. Another step. Chrom stood firm. "Knights of the realm. Classically trained."

"Huh." Step. "That's." Lunge. "Interesting!"

Chrom parried a wide left strike. Averill's fist shoved into his chest. He stumbled; two sharp stings to arm and side marked conceded blows. They separated and walked in a circle. "Who taught you?" asked Chrom.

"No-one."

"Self-taught?"

"More or less. What's that on your arm?" Averill gestured with his blade, flicking the point towards Chrom's right shoulder, where a faded mark darkened otherwise fair skin. It resembled a tear dropping into a chalice or bowl.

Chrom gave no answer bar the flash of his assault. He danced into range with a flurry of blows. Averill swung and lashed out of the worst blows, conceding a point on his side. Now engaged, words failed them. Averill cut through Chrom's flurry, savaging the Shepherd's guard with hammering blows. He countered with a side-step. Averill ducked and swept his legs out from under him. Chrom rolled away. He thrust forward, only to stumble as the point of Averill's sword tapped the bridge of his nose.

Averill smirked, triumphant. Chrom let slip a chuckle. "You fight like a Feroxi."

"You wouldn't look out of place in Ishgard."

They shared a laugh at the foreign words. Averill swapped sword point for proffered hand, helping Chrom stand. "Well fought, Rooks."

"Averill, please. And you never answered my question." He nodded once more to the mark.

"Oh, this? 'Tis the Brand of the Exalt."

"Sounds important."

"It is…" Chrom's answer trailed. Averill arched a brow, but a new voice filled in the gap.

"It's the marker of royal Ylissean heritage." Robin hovered at the door, hugging a book under his arm. He'd yet to don his cloak. "You're speaking to the heir apparent of the halidom."

"Another prince?" Averill's incredulity followed his gaze. Chrom shrugged.

"Not here, no. Back home, yes – _thank you_ , Robin."

Robin grinned. "The idea of a life on the throne doesn't appeal to our noble leader."

"Emm handles that well enough without my help."

"Are you all bloody royalty?" Averill blurted.

"Only Chrom and the siblings," called Robin, approaching, "I serve the Shepherds and now the Order as a tactician, but I have no ancestry of particular note. Perhaps that's why they look up to you."

"What?" Chrom arched a brow. Robin's subdued laughter only exacerbated Chrom's curiosity, and he didn't sate it, instead moving on to Averill.

"What about you? You certainly don't fight like a noble."

"No. Common as muck, me."

"Thrice as valuable," Chrom swiftly added, "You'd be a staunch ally, if you decided to fight."

"About that…" Averill relayed his decision to them. Chrom smiled, returning with thanks and a clap on the man's shoulder; Robin looked surprised, but inclined his head nevertheless.

"This changes a few of our strategies," said he, consulting his tome, "I'll call a meeting in a few hours. Averill, would you be alright joining Anna and I beforehand?"

"Give me a few more rounds with his majesty and I'll be good to go."

Chrom rolled his eyes, taking up his stance regardless. "By your leave."

* * *

A great roar echoed through the barracks, tearing Tiki into wakefulness. Adrenaline's blaze chased her out of her room. Where? Where was it coming from!?

Again the dreadful chorus sounded. They were in the training hall! She threw open the door-

"NUT HIM!"

-and tripped over her haste.

"Oh, Tiki!" Robin barely contained his laughter. He hurried from his seat to check on the woman. "You're finally up. Sorry if we woke you."

"It's quite alright…" Tiki covered her chest with her palm, drawing closed the warm nightgown adorned in her rush. "What in the gods' name is all this for?"

A full crowd swarmed the hall, each Hero who'd gathered the night before now arranged in a loose ring about two dancing figures in the middle. Her heart leapt to see who they were, when they finally broke from their showdown. Averill and Chrom, blades crossing with battle-mad grins. "It started as a sparring match," Robin continued, "Then Matthew started counting points, and then Sain suggested the wager, and now…"

"Now they have an audience."

"A full house!" Anna cheered, practically bouncing as she made her way over to the pair. "We could turn this into a thing."

"A thing?" Robin's voice pitched his curiosity.

"Yeah! Get a stage, get the townsfolk here, put some coin on the line…" the commander caught Tiki's state of dress. "Throw you in to announce the rounds!"

"Excuse me?" She blanched, closing her robe as tightly as she could, then folding her arms in an iron guard about her person. A fresh cheer ripped through the crowds as Rooks scored a particularly nasty right hook.

"Think about it! We'd never have to worry about the Order's coffers again!"

"We never have to worry about the Order's coffers," interjected Matthew, who circled the match with a hawk's eye.

"What's the score?" inquired Tiki, out of curiosity and a sincere desire to stem the flow of Anna's scheming.

"Uh… after that, it's thirty each."

"Thirty?" she blinked. "How long have they been at this?"

"I found them an hour and a half ago." Robin raised his hand. Despite his reserved tone, the exchange clearly had him caught in the frenzy of the crowd. Tiki looked around and counted them. Sharena and Alfonse sat next to each other, the former exhorting her mentor and the latter cheering the newcomer. Lykala leaned forward in his seat, at the very edge, wholly absorbed. Sain, the roguish knight who'd apparently instigated the wager, now cheered for whomever led the frenzied melee, not caring about winners and losers – she now recognized him as the source of most of the hall's cacophony, and the shout that covered her entrance.

The tactician stepped forward. "Alright, alright!"

A great booing and many complaints wailed from the gathered. Tiki bent over herself with laughter, and when she rose again she saw Averill grinning her way, lightly panting. He waved with his off-hand.

" _Alright!_ " Robin shouted over the noise. "Much as I'd love to see this to its natural conclusion, we do have a war to fight. Our good Chrom and the… terrifying Rooks are evenly matched. Thirty points each."

"Match point!" yelled Sain. "One more round!"

"Precisely what I had in mind! You all know what's at stake. Rooks – Chrom. Will you indulge us?"

They needed no asking. Both raised their blades to splendid applause and reclaimed the ring. Robin jogged back to Tiki's side, seeing her confusion. "Loser serves the maids tonight."

"That doesn't sound so-"

"Appropriately dressed."

Tiki regarded the men. " _Oh._ "

"Quite."

It certainly explained the fearsome clash that followed. Averill darted in almost too quick for her waking eye to track. Chrom vaulted overhead, blade arcing, blocked by a snappy spin on Averill's heel. He used his entire body; punches, kicks, whatever he could throw Chrom's way to break the prince's guard. He swung high. Chrom dropped to the ground. Averill hopped over his sweep, too slow to claim the advantage! Wood slammed together with a fierce crack, the hyur bearing down on Chrom's kneeling guard. He pushed, pushed – Tiki saw Chrom's snarl through grit teeth, desperately holding his defence. His grip trembled.

The roar of the crowd faltered. Averill's knee slammed into Chrom's arm, breaking his guard and sending the man toppling. He pointed his blade at the fallen prince's throat. "You're certainly no knight," panted Chrom, staring down the length of the training sword, "Gods, man. Have you heard of chivalry?"

"No idea," Averill rasped, "Is it going to help you squeeze into that dress tonight?"

Raucous laughter followed the hanging of Chrom's head. Anna strode into the centre as Averill helped his opponent up. "That's that! Well fought, the pair of you."

Despite the bet, the pair shared a grin and clasped each other's arms. "Now – I want you all in the war room within the hour. We've work to do!"

With so fine a show in the morning, not a soul complained; only Sharena, lamenting Chrom's defeat. "But he had him! Rooks fought dirty!"

"All's fair in love and war," Sain reminded her, winking at Tiki as they passed by. The rest filtered out until only the commander remained with the fighters, and Robin hovered next to Tiki. With a shared nod, they all converged.

"Robin tells me you've decided to join us," Anna offered her hand, which Averill readily shook, "After that display, I'm honestly just relieved you're on our side."

"Can't get home until Embla's willing to close the portals again," he answered, taking Chrom's practise sword and tossing them both to one end of the hall, "If that means I have to help you lot, then that's reason enough."

"Great! I'll run ahead and get the meeting started. Robin can fill you in on the details whilst you get equipped. Chrom – join me once you've cleaned up?"

He swept a sleeve over a sweaty brow, breath returning. "Yes. I'll be along."

"I'll let you catch your breath," Robin assured Averill, leaving with his friend. Anna took the lead, apparently making sure of Chrom's commitment to the wager with a firm slap to his back.

"Do you know of half-measures?" Tiki asked when the door closed, leaving the pair to the training hall. Averill barked a laugh.

"Not really. Plus – Sain, was it? – locked us into a bet. I'm not about to shrink from an honest challenge. How long were you watching for?"

"Alas, I caught but the end of your battle. You're very much the wildsman, Averill."

"Bandits and bandersnatches don't show the same restraint as knights or princes," said he, scratching his cheek. He'd long since caught his breath, "I learned that the hard way."

She remembered her question from the night before, taking a small breath. "Are dragons as merciless a fiend in your realm?"

"Huh?"

"You've not once mentioned them, despite your lack of surprise when faced with the revelation of my nature." Tiki explained, looking the hyur over. "I thought you were sparing my feelings."

"Do I look the type?"

"'Tis not about how you look, Averill." She smiled, but he couldn't see the spark behind it – only the anticipative sorrow. "It's alright."

"I don't know what you're so fussed about," he rumbled, "Eorzean dragons are Spoken. I've fought a few, but never killed one."

"Spoken?"

"Like you. They're capable of speech and reason." Averill paused. "Well, they aren't _quite_ like you. I've never seen a dragon fit so well into nightwear before."

Again reminded of her garb, Tiki's soft cheeks dusted pink, causing him to chortle through the rest of his answer. "They're a lot like you when you're, y'know. Not a person – but they're as storied and varied a culture as any other in our world. That means they've their problems, too, of course, but… they're a bit more adept at solving them than we are."

"Are there dragons in your cities?"

"No, they keep to themselves out in the wilds. Some of 'em roost on the Floating Continent, though I've never seen been there myself…"

Her eyes widened further. "A floating continent?"

"Averill?" Robin poked his head in. "You good?"

"Aye!" called he, waving, "Looks like it'll have to wait."

Tiki nodded, remembering herself. "Yes. Yes, of course. Apologies, Averill."

He shook his head. "S'alright. Easy to get lost in thoughts of home. I'll see you at the meeting – dressed, I hope?"

Her ears drooped a measure with her sigh. "Dressed. Go on…"

She watched him leave, a man warmed in the space of a morning. Summoning sickness forgotten, too. If naught else, Averill proved himself adaptable. Tiki smiled at his back, then left to prepare.

* * *

"Embla's primary advantage is their number," Robin explained. They were in the armoury, giving Averill a second pass at the armaments contained within whilst they awaited the Order's quartermaster, "Both in actual troops and Heroes. By devilry or deed, Veronica's been able to sway many to her bloody cause. Most of Askr's troops are locked into defending the border, but even that's not enough. You saw how far into the country their scouts have penetrated."

"How can the kingdom be stretched so thin?" Averill picked up a katana, turning it this way and that.

"This isn't their first war. Both sides are still recovering from the first conflict, but only Embla held fast to the bloodlust that sparked it. Askr pressed for peace – and Veronica's mother stood in firm favour of an end to war. Only…"

"Her daughter didn't feel the same. I remember," he set the blade back, returning to his search, "Need something heavier…"

"Try over there." Robin pointed. Averill renewed his search.

"What's your plan, then?"

"We need to bolster our strength and numbers. Lykala's summoning is the primary means to that end."

"Where _is_ Lykala, anyroad?"

"He'll be at the meeting, no doubt."

"He's like a ghost."

"He's nervous." Robin sighed. "Anna's tale of his arrival in Askr reminds me much of your own – to say nothing of your first encounter. You made quite the impression, Averill."

"A nervous summoner?"

"Lykala is a summoner insofar as we're Heroes."

"Huh? Aha!" Averill lifted a far heavier, single-edged falcata. It didn't sing through the air, so much as it shouted with a low whoosh. "This is perfect."

"You like them heavy, huh?"

"Good for splitting hides and crushing skulls. You were saying?"

"Oh – uh," Robin paused, "Ah. We're Heroes because some arbitrary force decides we're Heroes. Lykala's a summoner because Breidablik marks him as such."

"Breidablik? That gun he clutches?"

Robin nodded. "When he fell out of it, the relic resonated with him. It won't answer to anyone else."

"I see…" Averill hummed. "Wait – back up. He _fell_ out of the thing?"

"Well, he was fired out of it."

"What?"

"Anna tells it better than I do. Apparently, it's a much rougher way to arrive in Askr than summoning. The Gate he uses acts like a focus for Breidablik."

"Falling out of a gun…"

"Stranger things have happened," Robin suggested.

"Have they?"

Averill and he shared a glance. "No," laughed the latter, "No, I suppose they haven't."

"I thought not." Averill stashed his new blade in his sash, the blade clanking gently with his axes. "Okay, I'm all set. Where's the quartermaster?"

Robin glanced at the open armoury door. "He said he wouldn't be long…"

"Mm." He perched on a nearby crate. "So how does it work?"

"Breidablik?"

"Yeah."

"Not sure about the specifics," Robin scratched silver hair, face contorting in thought, "Lykala loads it with Orbs, fires, and a Hero is summoned."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that. I presume whomever designed the relic put a lot more thought into it than we do."

"Seems an awful cruel tool to foist upon a novice."

"It's war, Averill," Robin exhaled, shoulders slumping, "Not that it justifies it, but Askr is desperate. The Order smiles and marches proudly, but this is a losing battle. Anna saw a chance and she took it."

"Poor bastard."

"Such is the burden of fate. At least at his side, we can lessen that."

"Can't win a war and coddle a fool at the same time."

"You might be right."

The quartermaster cleared his throat as he rounded the corner, apologising. Robin clapped his hands together. "I'll get my stuff, and the quartermaster'll get you equipped with whatever you need. We'll be in the war room."

"Sure." Averill checked his weapons again, fidgeting with his gloves. "Wait – which way was that again?"

"Heh. I'll send someone."

"That's a better plan." Averill prepared to leave, but a thought stopped him at the door. "How should we arrange Chrom's uniform?"

Robin snorted. "Leave that to our good commander. She has an exceptional memory and a resourceful mind. Rest assured that Chrom will serve the Order with distinction."

He rattled with laughter. "Excellent."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: New chapter! Sorry it took so long; as you might have seen, I've taken up a second fanfic!**

 **If you like monsters, romance, and varying combinations of the aforementioned, do check out _Thawing Permafrost_! I'll be splitting my time between the two.**

 **That said, enjoy!**

* * *

Averill jammed his sword into the earth, dropping down onto the hewn stump behind him. "How's it looking?"

"We're done," Chrom confirmed, stowing his blade. "Alfonse, are you alright?"

"I'm good," said the raven-haired prince, joining them. They formed a loose circle around an extinguished fire pit. "That's the last of our quarrel, is it not?"

"Sounds right," Averill rumbled, scratching the back of his neck, shading it from the noon sun. He called for the map. "Let's see… yeah, that's ours. South and East."

"I hope the others fared as well as we did." Alfonse wiped his sword clean. Averill watched the youth as he did so. A fair, round face and calm, studious eyes. Not like his sister, all vim and vigour, the fire and the warmth blazing at the heart of the Order.

"S'only scouts," he said, examining his new gear. A long debate and several curses from the quartermaster secured him custom, silver gauntlets and a very strange look. Besides that, he'd opted for a traditional swordsman's garb; a basic tunic with light plate covering the vitals, keeping him quick on his feet, "They have Tiki with 'em."

"I dislike relying on her strength so much."

"Why? Lad, she's a dragon. Or a manakete, or – what's the difference. She's here and fighting. 'Twould be a waste _not_ to put her to use."

His chastising earned Averill a startled glance from Alfonse, then a small smile. The prince steered the conversation. "You bring a very different air to what I'm used to in the Order. Where did you say you learned to fight?"

"I didn't." Averill checked the condition of his axes, twirling one, then both absently in his hands. "But if you're asking who taught me, I'll have to disappoint."

"A secret style?"

"Nay – no style. No school. I picked up an axe when I was young and the rest is history."

"Quite the history, if your scars attest to the truth of it." Chrom searched the treeline, hand on his scabbard. Ever prepared.

"That's a fancier blade than the quartermaster stocks." Averill distracted them, nodding to Chrom's weapon. He noted the way the guard split, opening into a symbol not unlike the Brand on his shoulder, before forming the main blade.

"Because it wasn't forged here. This is Falchion."

"I take that to mean it's not _a_ falchion, but _the_ Falchion?"

"The one and only."

Alfonse piped up. "Legends say it was forged in Chrom's realm by the Divine Dragon, Naga, to seal Grima, the Fell Dragon."

"Quite the story."

"It's no fairy tale," Chrom ceased his vigil, finding naught. "My ancestor, the First Exalt, forged a pact with Naga to seal Grima. The Falchion was one of the symbols of their pact."

"How do you know all that?" Averill asked Alfonse. "Chrom I get, but you…? How many times have you asked to hear the tale?"How

The Askran grinned, sheepish. "I won't deny that it made for excellent corroboration, but I knew of the legend before Chrom's summoning. The palace library is filled with tales and histories of other realms."

"Even mine?"

"I'd have to check to be sure, but most likely. I've never met a Hero from a realm beyond Askr's records."

A rustling caught their attention. Averill tore his falcata from the ground and took up a stance, the closest to the disturbance. "Who goes there?"

"Good to see our reconnaissance efforts aren't wasted," came the quip. Matthew emerged, dagger in hand, cloak disturbed but its wearer unruffled.

"There you are," Chrom's announcement eased them, "Any luck with the straggler?"

As an answer, Matthew extracted a battered journal from the folds of his cloak. "The man himself spat the usual drivel – such is the way of an impassioned captain – but his writing's as close enough to a map of their movements as we're going to get."

"Good. See that to Robin, will you? We can take care of things here."

"So I heard," the rogue whistled for his horse, setting off at a canter.

"What does Embla think it can achieve without Heroes of its own?" Alfonse wondered. "These scouts are nothing against you two."

"Nor you," Chrom reminded him, "You've been practising."

"If they're no trouble, how do you think they managed to get so deep into your kingdom?" Averill rebuked, clearing his throat, "Think of the eye they've been able to keep on Askr and its people – and you. When these scouts don't come home, it's going to send a very clear message."

"You have a point…"

"It's not like Embla is without Heroes, either," Chrom sighed, "Remember? Reports placed her in the World of Conquest. She's likely shoring up her strength, just as we have been. Attrition's bought her time to prepare."

A silence dampened the conversation. Averill took to kicking about the threadbare camp, turning it over for anything of use. His boot tapped against something that caught the sunlight, sparkling. "What's this?"

He held it up to the light, and both Chrom and Alfonse exclaimed. "An Orb!"

" _This_ is an Orb?" It barely filled the palm of his hand. A smooth jewel carved into a perfect sphere, its facets filled with mist. "I thought they'd be bigger. And not lying in the dirt."

"Mayhaps one of the scouts collected it? They're scattered about the realm." Alfonse suggested.

"Either way, I'll make sure that gets to Lykala. He'll need it to summon." Chrom opened his hand, expectant. "Averill?"

He stared into the jewel, turning it this way and that. "Averill," he repeated, slightly firmer, "Hand it over."

"Right, sorry. Trying to get a read on the damned thing."

"A read?"

"If it's magical, I'm trying to see what it does. Alas, I never did have an eye for such things…" he dropped the Orb into Chrom's hand. "Should we head back, then? Matthew didn't mention any other camps."

"Might as well. We can deliver this and organise the next move with Robin." He'd not sat in on the briefing, too busy getting equipped, but clearing the camps had been but the first instruction given to them. Recovering intel, as Matthew had, was the second.

"Would've been nice to get a live one." Averill sighed. "Alas-"

"Averill!" yelled Chrom.

He turned, but too late. Steel crashed into his pauldron, armour saving his limb from the desperate swing. The hyur staggered forward, recovering and tearing an axe free from his belt. An Emblian swordsman stared the three men down, panting, wild-eyed. Cornered. "Oh, good," Averill hissed, reversing the grip of his axe, "A survivor."

Chrom rushed to his side, Falchion keening. "You alright?"

"Fine, yeah. The pissant barely scratched me."

"Askran curs!" the swordsman yelled over them.

Averill shot him a look. "Come on, lad. We're talking here- don't be rude."

The Emblian reared to strike. Averill crashed into the man with his shoulder, smashing into a wide guard and knocking him prone. He kicked his sword away and planted a boot hard on the man's back. "What did I say?"

He groaned, squirming under heel but soon surrendering. Averill grumbled. "Oschon be praised. I s'pose I did ask for a live one. Alfonse!"

"Y-yes?" the prince stammered, recovering from the shock of the ambush.

"Need rope. Should be some around here." Averill pressed the beard of his axe to the Emblian's throat. "Any friends you want to call off?"

"Averill!" Chrom protested.

"You killed the rest of us!" cried the man, face pressed to the dirt. "Take me! Let me join them!"

"Killing the helpless isn't really my thing." Averill continued. "Besides – you're in the presence of royalty, lad. Spilling your guts isn't the best way to show due deference."

His captive spat. Averill chuckled. "Any time you're ready, Alfonse!"

They bound and hauled the man to the edge of the forest. Bar his accursed volume, the Emblian knew not to fight. "What's your name, soldier?" Chrom asked. Averill jostled the man along. Alfonse rode ahead.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Not all that much," grunted Averill. Chrom shot him a look. "The good man's just being polite."

He scoffed, and sold to silence. "We'll learn naught with threats," Chrom said, lower.

"We'll get nothing from this sap." Averill corrected. "Isn't that right? You're loyal to Veronica 'till the day you die. You could never sell out the precious princess."

"Why bother taking me if you know this?"

"I'm sure we'll figure that out on the way. Lots of people reckon they're loyal until it's tested."

"Averill- you can't mean…!"

"It's war, Chrom!" said he, with a clear cheer and a smile unbefitting his typical mien. "You might balk at the prospect, but we savages do what needs to be done. What do you reckon? Are you Emblian, loyal and true? Or is that just until the pain starts?"

The poor man stumbled. His feet started to drag. "That's what I thought. So-"

He coughed. Averill caught the man as he collapsed; saw the arrow lodged in chest. "ALFONSE!" Chrom shouted, "RIDE!"

The noise proved enough to startle his steed, carrying Alfonse away at a full sprint. Averill lay the Emblian down, knowing life fleeing a body well enough to understand that even a healer's touch would not spare him. A pierced heart. Effective. "Shooting their own men-" Chrom cursed. "Gods, have they no compassion?"

Averill steeled himself with a breath, tearing his other axe free to wield both together. "Eyes sharp, Chrom. That's a marksman to fear."

He traced the arc of the shot. Two silhouettes – one locking another arrow, the other astride a great horse. The glare of the sun blocked the detail of their armour, but from their bearing alone, Chrom could see enough. "Heroes…"

The pairs came together, a few feet separating them. The marksman dressed in the garb of a bandit, bow drawn and quivering. He carried a leering smirk. Atop his steed and dressed in fierce black plate, the other cut a sharp, commanding figure despite his stature and fair complexion. "So young…" Rooks murmured.

"Have care, Askran," snapped the youth, though the marksman smirked and spoke over him.

"My arms might get tired. Not that I'd mind the mess."

"Heroes of Embla," Chrom called, lowering Falchion an inch. "Might I ask your names?"

"I am Leo, prince of Nohr. My retainer, Niles," he didn't descend from his horse. Rooks saw now that Leo clutched a black tome under his arm. A mage? On the open plain betwixt Askr and the surrounding woodlands, they'd no hope of shelter from whatever magics that tome contained, to say nothing of the cruel shot that was Niles.

"Why did you shoot your own man? He was defenceless!"

"Loose lips, Askran." Niles practically sang, ragged silver hair masking an eyepatch. "Didn't realise you'd taken to leashing beasts alongside your kings."

"Nohrian law falls quite comfortably in line with Embla's, where traitors are concerned." Leo added.

"Death. High price to pay for a prisoner." Rooks chanced a glance back at Chrom. He slid his foot towards him. "What do you want?"

"Want?" Niles laughed. "We are but humble scouts. If we manage to snag a couple of careless Heroes on our way, who'll complain?"

"You understand the Contracts," said Leo, taking tome in hand, "You know the game these kingdoms play."

"I do," Chrom whispered, gritting his teeth. "But to join such cruel masters…"

"Chrom." Averill hissed. "I think we're past the point of civil conversation."

The Shepherd met the savage's eye. He saw the look, the way he'd angled his feet. He nodded. "Quite right. Shall we begin?"

Niles's smirk broadened. Leo sighed. "I had hoped you might surrender. You are outmatched."

"We'll see!" Averill lobbed an axe in time with his shout, causing Leo's horse to reel and Niles to weave sideways. "Now, Chrom!"

Chrom fled. Averill charged, grabbing Leo's leg and yanking him from the saddle. In the cloud that erupted from his fall, Averill tumbled towards his thrown axe and claimed it, rolling back to his feet.

A dull thud knocked his balance. He scowled at the arrow now lodged in his right arm. Niles already had another shot lined up, tutting. "Bad move, little beastie."

He blindly lobbed another axe, using its cover to spring for the woodlands. His cheek stung to the kiss of whistling steel. Averill stumbled – now the earth itself tore at his feet! He leapt, staggered, fell to a knee. Leo turned the page of his tome, magic swirling and taking shape as golden rings spiralling about his person. "Outmatched and you choose to divide your numbers? Small wonder Askr struggles."

"I'm not the tactician," growled Averill, wrenching back to his feet and fleeing into the brush. Thal's balls – a mage and a marksman! "Of all the fights to pick…"

At least in the brush, Niles's sharp shooting needed line of sight. As the roots snarled and made to snare his feet, Averill found his cover turned against him. "You're quite the team!" he yelled, taking to the boughs of a gnarled oak.

The splintering wood inches from his face told him they'd heard. He took to the ground before another arrow found his skull and unsheathed his blade, for all the good it would do. Averill cursed his summoning sickness.

He took some solace, knowing that they focussed on him. He'd given Chrom time…

* * *

Robin welcomed Sharena's group at the gates to the palace. The princess rode in front, lance tucked into place. Behind her, Sain and Tiki travelled side-by-side, the mounted former engaging her in animated chatter. "Look, the city is beautiful this time of year. 'Twould be a shame to waste it…"

"Robin!" Sharena dismounted, taking lance in hand. "Tell me you've news. Sain's been going on since we finished."

"None yet," said the tactician, smiling. "You're the first back. Alfonse is still clearing the south and east. How fared the north?"

"Quite well," said Tiki, sweeping over to their side, "Though I fear we had very little success in the way of gathering intelligence."

"They've this awful habit of fleeing in terror when they spy a dragon and her gallant guard bearing down upon the camp." Sain joked. "Not that they managed to escape."

"Good. Ceasing the flow of _their_ intelligence is victory enough. Once Alfonse reports back, we can begin to strike at the portals."

"We found these, too!" Sharena chirped, unhooking a pouch from her belt and proffering it. Robin knew the chime of Orbs.

"So many?"

"Seems Embla's gathering them," Sain explained, "We found those on the captain of the last camp. What do you reckon?"

"I have a few ideas – none of them pleasant. There should be enough for a summoning in here." Robin opened the pouch, Stirring the collection with his finger to count them. "This doesn't bode well."

"Does anything?" Sain sighed.

"Sadly, no. The scales are tipped quite firmly in Embla's favour. Even with Averill's strength, without numbers we can only accomplish so much."

"We make strides," Tiki tried, spying Sharena's drooping brow. She placed a soft hand in the princess's shoulder, "Small gains, but they add up. This is a victory, and every battle strengthens us."

Sharena smiled to the manakete, laying a hand over hers.

"Ho there, Matthew!" Sain called, waving to the rider as he bolted towards them. "Why the haste?"

His cloak billowed and his breath ran ragged from urging his steed to its fastest pace. Matthew circled once to slow, pulling up alongside the group. "We need to move."

"Trouble?" Robin asked. He caught the journal thrown his way. "What's this?"

"Captain's diary. Sain, how fast can you ride?"

"Fast as needed. What's the danger?"

"Heroes." Matthew dismounted, catching his breath. "Spied them on my way back. Emblian Heroes headed for the camp we took not even an hour ago. They must have encountered Chrom by now."

"So far from the rest of the army?" Robin frowned. "I don't like this. Where're the others?"

"Back at camp. Chrom sent me ahead."

"A good thing, too. Alright – Sain, Tiki, you know what to do." Sain bowed his head, urged his horse forward. Tiki burst into her dragon form and took skyward.

"What about me?" Sharena asked, partway through mounting. "I want to help!"

"Sain and Tiki are more than enough, Sharena."

"But-"

"Princess-" Robin interjected, fixing her with an even look. "If this is what it seems, it's likely that they're after Alfonse. There could be others after you, and like it or not you are slightly more valuable than us Heroes. Your survival is paramount, lest you forget your father's decree."

"All the more reason I should be out there!" she yelled. "Alfonse-"

"Is in perfectly capable hands. Do you doubt Chrom and Averill so?"

"No, but-" Robin helped her down; despite her reluctance, she didn't refuse the tactician's logic.

"The safest place for you is here. Come inside and help me with this."

Sharena looked to the gate as they entered the palace, her eyes distant and pleading. "Alfonse…"

* * *

Averill crouched low in the boughs of the tree, eye flickering keenly about, ears pricked for the slightest rustle. His right arm throbbed, shorn muscles twisting and aching every time movement disturbed the arrow lodged just above his elbow.

He scowled. Move too high, Niles would spy the savage; too low, and Leo's magics would surely claim him. Had he but kept close the advantage would surely be his, but his effort to drive Chrom to safety cost him moments, precious moments. Now the Nohrians had their range, and fought with teamwork and tactics beyond the strength of a single man.

"Found you!" An arrow grazed his cheek. Averill dropped, landing roughly; the earth spat snaring roots the moment he did so. He tried lunging for Niles, but Leo's magics simply barred his path, twisting bark and bough to block his path and entrap him. Averill fled once more to the safety of the trees. "Come on out, little beastie! You're only making this worse!"

A sickening glee coloured Niles's tone. Leo spoke barely a word; in fact, Averill hadn't seen the mage in quite some time. He turned the entire forest against him, but the open plains held no shelter either. Averill took a breath, scrunching his eye. "Come on…"

"We aren't gonna kill you!" Niles's taunt echoed through the woods. "No point spilling blood we can use. Surrender, and this'll all be over."

A shadow passed overhead. Averill looked up, smiling through the pain. "Sorry, lad." Averill called back, bolting from cover, "But I'll take my chances!"

He rushed for the clearing, throwing himself over snarling nature and under whistling steel. They ripped and tore into his garb but found no purchase on flesh. "Come on, come on…!"

Averill exploded out onto the clearing, kicking furiously from his roll to maintain speed. He found Leo waiting for him, tome at the ready with Niles just behind. The last of his arrows found its mark, biting again into his arm. He staggered long enough for roots to spring from the earth, snaring his ankles and coiling about his main hand. "How foolish." Leo sighed, snapping his tome shut. "What did you hope to accomplish?"

He tried to wrest himself from the binds. "There's no point fighting," Leo shouted, approaching, "Once Brynhildr's magic catches you, there's no escape."

More roots wrapped about his legs, dragging Averill down to his knees. He released his sword. "The first smart thing you've done today, Askran. Give me your name."

"Rooks," snarled he.

Niles crowed. "Look at the fight in this one!"

"Quite. This needn't be the end. Contracts can be rewritten; if you pledge yourself to Embla, you'll see another dawn, Rooks."

He coughed, the pain finally starting to sink in. Again, the shadow passed overhead, causing the man to laugh. "Well?" snapped Leo.

"It's a good thing you're so short, my liege." Averill chuckled, relaxing from his struggles.

"What did you say?"

"I said-" Niles struck Averill across the face. His laughter only swelled. "It's a good thing you're so short. No eye for the sky…"

"What!?" A roar deafened them. Leaping back, Niles reached for an arrow, finding only an empty quiver before a flash of blue slammed into him, sending him and his assailant skidding across the earth. Tiki swept low, swooping between Averill and the Nohrian with a gust powerful enough to bat him away. Lightning crackled in her maw.

"About damn time!" Averill laughed, slumping.

Niles wrestled against his attacked, but found a blade pressed to his throat. "One wrong move," Chrom growled.

"Release him!" Leo picked himself up, opening his tome. "Release him, or watch Rooks torn apart."

The slightest flicker of magic coiled the roots tighter about his body. Tiki snarled, lightning arcing between her fangs. "Call off your beast," Leo insisted.

"I am no beast," warned she, "Unless provoked."

"If you can reason, you'll back off." One of the vines found the wounds that crippled Averill's arm, peeling them open. Grit his teeth all he might, the pain slipped loose in a strangled groan. His breath quickened. "Last chance!" Leo snapped.

"Don't!" Averill shouted, coughing. "Don't you dare-"

"Enough!" Chrom interrupted. He pulled away from Niles and took a step back, blade raised. At the same time, the storm brewing in Tiki's maw calmed. "That's enough. Release him."

"Chrom, you idiot…" Averill groaned. True to his word, Leo released the magics binding him, roots returning to their home under sundered earth. He fell forward.

"A knight, a savage, and a wyvern," mused the Nohrian, sparing but a moment's glance for Niles, "How deep the bonds of loyalty must run in such an eclectic gathering."

"Deep enough." Chrom returned, still holding to Falchion. Tiki kept herself between Averill and their foe. "Why have you sided with Embla?"

"The same reason you have pledged to Askr; a Contract binds our service. Until such a time as it dissolves, Nohr fights for Veronica."

"All of Nohr," Niles added, smirking. He slung his bow across his shoulder, "Not just us."

"It's time we departed." Leo announced, turning his back on the three. Niles followed along. "We shall no doubt meet again on the battlefield. Mercy shan't be an option again, of that you can be assured."

They departed. Chrom advanced, but a flick of Brynhildr saw roots tangle and obstruct their path. Only when silence returned to the clearing did they fade – and only then did Tiki release her form, crashing to earth and kneeling at Averill's side. "You're hurt-"

"I'm fine," Averill growled, forcing himself to stand, "Why did you let them escape? You had them!"

"They had you." Chrom sheathed Falchion, "Assisting you was always the objective. We can deal with the Heroes on our own terms."

"You could have dealt with them now!"

"Embla wields an army of thousands, and Heroes by the dozen," Tiki added, stone-faced as she countenanced his wounded pride, "A loss for them is inconsequential. Losing you is unconscionable."

"This is war," Averill began. It was Chrom, this time, who cut him off.

"A war we intend to win. A sacrifice here would be a waste, understand?"

Averill opened his mouth. He closed it soon after, growling and stalking off. "Averill, please – Sain will be along shortly."

"My legs are fine!" He snapped, pressing on. Exchanging a tired look, the dragon and the Shepherd hurried to keep up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Boy howdy, it's been a while. No excuses; I've just been busy at work. Sorry about that! I missed you all.**

 **Without further ado, here's chapter six! Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

All except Tiki and Averill gathered in the war room, followed by the grave silence of the day's revelations.

"Do we know how he's doing?" asked Anna, breaking the silence.

Chrom took a seat, folding his arms. "The wounds didn't look severe, but it's hard to tell without Averill allowing one of us a look. Even then, I'm no healer. Tiki's gone to offer her help."

"I've never known a man to be so damnably stubborn," she sighed. Alfonse joined them next, setting a heavy tome before them. An archival work all in the room recognised.

"Averill believed – believes, still – that we should have risked his life to secure our advantage over the Nohrians."

"He wasn't wrong," Robin added, his silver eyes fixed on the map sprawled under their hands. "Even if we couldn't sway them to our cause, they would have proven invaluable chips on the board, for information or hostage negotiations…"

"We don't trade lives!" Chrom snapped. "That's not how this works."

"I'm not disagreeing," Robin replied, steady. He didn't look up, not once. "I'm only confirming his logic. We don't know the first thing about Averill, but if that's a sacrifice he's prepared to make, we can safely assume that Eorzea's suffered crises that such a cost could have averted."

"Would that we knew more of him…" Anna chewed on her thumb.

"He's the first of our Heroes to come from a realm none of us are familiar with." Chrom closed his eyes, ponderous, as Robin took over the conversation. "Sain and Matthew; Chrom, Tiki and I; yourselves, as Askrans. We all know each other, know our homes. He's the first Hero who is, in almost every sense, a stranger."

"Is there aught in there, Alfonse?" Anna inquired.

The prince shook his head. "I haven't looked, yet. It feels wrong to pry into the affairs of his home when he's there to ask."

"He isn't giving us a choice," Anna sighed, placing her hands on her hips, "If he wants to act out on his own, according to his own code, we need to know what he's going to do. If we can't trust him…"

"He trusts Tiki." Robin finally removed his attention from the map. "Let's start there. Leave it in her hands."

"And if she can't get through to him?" Anna returned. "No, I can't leave it to one. It's too irresponsible. Alfonse – don't give me that look, this is an order. You find whatever you can about him, and his world."

"Anna-"

"An order, soldier." Anna repeated, fixing him with a stern glare. "Your father entrusted the Order to me. I won't let one stray soul tear it apart."

Alfonse met her stare, but mustered not the courage to withstand it for long. He bowed his head. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Robin, go with him. Four eyes'll make short work of it. Everyone else – let's get some eyes on our Emblian conscripts. Chrom, tell us everything you can."

* * *

Though Averill did not resist her unsubtle pursuit, Tiki kept her distance. He stalked down the halls of the barracks, making for the living quarters. His injured arm swung uselessly, the twin shafts of Niles's arrows wobbling and jerking with his lopsided gait. She marvelled at his tolerance of the pain, biting back the memories that surfaced to see one so gravely wounded.

He rounded the corner to the quarters proper, and she turned shortly after. Tiki froze at the corner, for Averill, too, had paused. A woman in a black dress and white apron stood in his way. "Y-y-you're hurt…"

"I am," he snarled, "Out of the way."

"B-but you need help. You need bandages! I-I'll go get-"

"You'll get out of my way and leave me _be_. A mewling waif'll do naught for this."

He shunted past the woman, who only just escaped his shoulder with a frantic stumble. Felicia, Tiki saw now. She clutched a trembling platter to her breast, flinching when he slammed his door hard enough to rattle the hinges. "Oh dear…" she mumbled, head drooping.

"Felicia," Tiki announced herself, sweeping over to the beleaguered maid. Relief flickered over the woman's slight features, and she hastened to tidy herself.

"Tiki! Ma'am, I'm sorry. I tried to- to help, but he's…"

"'Tis quite alright." Tiki smoothed Felicia's shoulders, smiling gently. "He's proven to be something of a troublesome Hero. Why don't you find someone to help clean the blood? I'll handle our newest guest."

"R-right. Yeah, I'll do that." Felicia excused herself, her heels a frenetic staccato as she hurried away. Tiki contemplated how she might earn entry to Rook's room, and was about to reach for the handle when the maid's footsteps stopped. "M-ma'am?"

"Please – just Tiki. What is it?"

Felicia's pale eyes scrutinized the stone floor between her and the manakete. "Where's the blood…?"

Tiki glanced at the floor. Sharp as her eyes were, she spied nary a speck of crimson dashing the flags. She thought back to Averill – his new garb disguised some of it, but surely she'd seen a bloom of red on his sleeve. Hadn't she? "I suppose that will be all then, Felicia. Carry on."

Carry on she did, disappearing around the corner, leaving her with the problem of the man in his room. Tiki knocked, tentative, courteous. "Averill? It's me."

"I'm busy," snapped he.

"Yes – two arrows will interfere with most schedules. Losing your arm will, too, I'd imagine."

He didn't answer. She picked out a small hiss, and pressed with a more urgent plea. "At least let me help address your injuries. If they get infected…"

Silence served as his only response. Tiki wrapped her fingers around the ring of the door handle. "Averill? I'm-"

She lurched as he yanked the door open. Tiki stumbled into the warmth of his chest, bouncing neatly away. "You're what?" he rasped.

Composing herself, Tiki examined his condition. He'd shorn the sleeve damaged by the attack, revealing his wounds. Both bit into the flesh and stopped part way through his arm, black shafts poking out of disturbing clean tears in his scarred flesh. For a moment she though them just another part of the man's mangling, as if he'd always had two arrows jutting out of his arm and shoulder. That neither wept even a single tear of blood only cemented the illusion. "I'm coming in." Tiki murmured, distracted.

"Don't hover in the doorway." Averill grunted, turning away. He dragged one of the chairs from the nearby table and dragged it over, reclaiming his seat on the bed. He picked and poked ineffectually at the shafts with his uninjured, black-sleeved arm. "If you're going to help, stop gawping and start, y'know. Helping."

She pulled the door closed and took the seat, fixating on his injuries. "This isn't your first time seeing a puncture wound, is it?" he asked, dry.

Tiki tutted. "I've lived some three millennia – no, this is not my first time dealing with arrows." She paused, cheeks flushing hot with uncommon indignance. "'Tis… my first time treating such a wound."

Averill's eye rolled. "Alright. Listen close, do exactly as I say. Don't argue."

Tiki nodded, turning the seat as he shifted to put the injuries in better reach. "Need to see where they've stuck, first. Give them a wiggle – gently."

She wrapped her fingers around the nearest shaft and, as bidden, tugged it gently. She felt it bend in her grasp, but not the whole length – the very tip resisted disturbance. Averill exhaled then sucked in through his teeth. "That's in the bone," he rasped, "Prick knew what he was doing. How he managed it with an eyepatch… and the other?"

Tiki tested the other one. The whole of it shifted against muscle. "Okay. That's not so bad." Averill whispered. "Which do you want first. Hard or easy?"

"Hard." Tiki replied, steeling herself. "I'm not wont to leave you in such pain."

"Please – I've had jackals bite worse than this. Still, have it your way. See the armoire yonder?"

Tiki followed the stretch of his finger and moved over to it. "There's a small blade in amongst my clothes. Grab it."

She started to rummage. "Where does one learn to treat such wounds in Eorzea?"

"On the road," Averill replied, fidgeting with the arrows lodged in the bone, "There's a stretch of woodland in the eastern reaches of the main continent. Folks there are awful tetchy about trespassers."

"You were trespassing?" Tiki held up a small, treated leather scabbard, that housed a blade no longer than the palm of her hand.

"That's the one." She returned to the chair. "You're going to cut into the flesh and widen the bite of the arrow, so I can pull it out. Alright?"

Tiki nodded, taking a small breath. She unsheathed the dagger. "Do you need a cloth to bite?"

"What did I say?" Averill flashed with exasperation. She pursed her lips, and prepared to make the cut, lining the tip of the dagger up against the shaft. "Push in, slow, and widen it."

She cut in, flesh parting like any other hunk of meat. Averill winced. "Is this woodland where you learned not to bleed?" Tiki murmured.

"Hah. No, that was more recent."

"You rather frightened Felicia."

"I've been shot," he grunted, "Twice. Permit me some impatience. That'll do."

Tiki wiped his dagger on the leather before sheathing it. Averill took over, grasping the arrow. He took one breath, two – and on the third he yanked the arrow free. He brought the tip to his eye, examining it. "Good. Clean."

"Do your kind function differently to our humans?"

"What? No, I'm built different, is all. Easy one next – grab it."

She did so. Averill closed his eye. "On three, you're gonna push it the rest of the way."

"Alright." Tiki adjusted her grip.

"Ready?"

"On your mark."

"One- NRGH!" She pushed through Averill's groan, repulsed by the motion of running him through. "Tiki!"

"Better when you're not expecting it," she answered quickly.

Pain darkened his expression, drew harsher valleys in his scars and a fiercer glare in his eye. "Smart-arse," he rumbled.

"You asked for my help. I'm no mewling waif to cow with choice words."

Averill turned from her stare. He broke the arrow's head off, then pulled the rest of the shaft back out through the wound, leaving two gashes in his arm. "All done. Fine work for your first time."

"I'll pray that I don't need the experience again." Tiki looked around the room. "Where are your bandages?"

"Don't need 'em. Watch."

A faint crackling reached her. Turning back to the wounds, Tiki's breath caught as she witnessed flesh mending itself, muscle and skin stitched back together by luminous threads of vibrant crimson. "Magic?"

"After a fashion. Told you – I'm built different." Averill didn't boast. The words came quiet, whispered.

"Fascinating…" She touched the mended skin. He gave no reaction. "Do they hurt?"

"At first – but once it's healed, that's it. Good as new."

Tiki laid the flat of her palm against his arm. "I see why you pressed Chrom. He does not humour talk of sacrifice."

"'Tis done. It matters not." Averill tore the last of his sleeve off, discarding the scraps. He flexed his gauntlets. "Now what? Return to the rest?"

"They would have sent someone if they needed us." Tiki replied, standing. "Sharena and Chrom are there to make their reports."

"Freedom, then," Averill murmured. "You lot aren't much for scheduling, are you?"

"When our numbers are so diminished, there isn't much we _can_ do. Robin loathes the prospect of a sustained campaign. With our duties complete, I think I'll take to the city."

"Why?"

Tiki smiled, opening the door. "Perhaps you'd like to join me, and find that answer yourself?"

"You did just help me heal." Averill noted. "'Twould be rude to refuse an invitation."

"So chivalrous. I didn't realise you cared."

"When it suits." He grinned. Freed from pain's warping, wrathful spectre, he returned to his easier airs. "So long as we're back in time for Chrom's wager."

* * *

"Which way's 'E', again?" Robin scratched the back of his head. His breath misted. Alfonse's lantern chimed as he held it aloft.

"This way."

Their footsteps echoed and travelled down the corridors sprawling before them, reaching into the furthest dark, further than either could see. Robin shivered, drawing his cloak closer about him. "I don't understand how you manage this."

"It's not so bad when you get used to it." Alfonse replied, face set, stony. "Down here."

Dark shelves bent under the weight of full tomes bound in cracked leather and heavy iron shackles. Robin watched Alfonse's back, noting the tight squaring of his shoulders. "You mustn't let Anna's orders bother you. She's our commander."

"It's not her orders that bother me," said the prince, "You're right, of course – she's our commander, we respect that authority."

"What is it, then? If it's the nature of her request, it's no different to your research into our realms."

"It is, though." Alfonse rounded on Robin, halting their advance. "I read of your worlds before your arrival. When I was younger, I dreamed of one day visiting the realms of Awakening. This is the first time I've come to these archives specifically to learn of a new world. It's… different."

"Such is the nature of work, tainting the things we used to enjoy unreservedly." Robin conceded.

Alfonse folded his arms. "Worse, if Averill learns that we've done this…"

"He's a private man, but not insensible." Robin clapped him on the shoulder. "He'll understand."

"Will he?" Their eyes met – Robin's curious, Alfonse's wavering. "The way he acted on the battlefield, the savagery that walks with him. We had to convince a man that dangerous to trust us – and now we betray that trust."

"War pushes us to questionable means." He tried to reassure Alfonse, squeezing his shoulder, but the youth withdrew, convinced. "We start with Eorzea, recall. We might not learn anything about the man before we're satisfied."

"He's a Hero. The archive'll have _something_ on him, and Anna wants us to find that."

"The sooner we do, the sooner we can put this deception behind us." Robin suggested, releasing his hand. "Come – let's be done with it, before I freeze."

Alfonse grumbled. They resumed their search, tracing the letters on small bronze plaques. EL, EM, EN…

"E…O. Should be here." Alfonse scanned the shelf. "Huh."

"What?"

"There's nothing."

"Let me see." Robin rolled onto his tiptoes. "Eorzea, Eorzea… Curious."

"It should be here." Alfonse tapped in between two tomes. "Right here, but there's nothing. No record, no history…"

"What does that mean?" Robin folded his arms. "Besides that we've wasted an hour shivering down here."

"It means…" Alfonse mused. "It means… I don't know. We need to tell Anna."

He could not hide the wisp of relief in his voice. Robin agreed with Alfonse, and they quit from the archive to make for the war room.

Most of the Order lingered upon their return, and so they shared in the revelation. Lykala marvelled at the prospect of a world so completely unknown to the rest of them, but all other minds flashed with the same concern; Anna most of all, folding in on herself. She wove her arms tight, furrowed her brow. "How can there be nothing?"

"I've no idea. Perhaps Askr never discovered the realm?" Alfonse suggested, shrugging.

"In the eons since its founding?" Anna returned, disbelief writ plain. "No, that can't be…"

"And yet it is," said Chrom.

"We could ask father." Sharena piped up. She pored over the tome Alfonse had delivered at the start of the meeting. "He's bound to know something."

Anna nodded. "At the very least, knowledge of an undiscovered realm must be reported, if that is the case. Perhaps he can shed some light on the Gate's behaviour, too."

"You think they're related?" Robin inquired.

"Breidablik summons a strange, brutal man from a realm Askr has no record of? How can they not be?"

"Wait, Anna – Commander." Alfonse's correction drew her attention. "If we're to do this, let's at least bring Averill along. There's no reason to hide this from him."

"Alfonse…"

"He's right." Chrom added, stepping forth. "We might not know much about him, but he fought to buy us time and call for reinforcements. That's enough for me."

"This was never about trust." Anna protested, "But I see your point. Alright – Alfonse, go and get him. I'll arrange the audience."

"Oh- wait!" Sharena's hand shot up. "Before you go, if we're all here, then…"

"You've found something?"

Sharena turned the tome towards the gathered, revealing a family tree. "You said his name was Leo, Chrom?"

"I did."

Sharena pointed to a painted portrait on one of the lower branches. "This him?"

"It is." His face clouded. "His retainer boasted about 'all of Nohr'…"

"That's these four, then." The princess marked each of the portraits. "Xander, Camilla, Leo, Elise… and however many retainers."

"Gods preserve," Anna exhaled, "And Veronica's bound them with a Contract?"

"We don't know that for sure," Robin offered, "Worst-case, yes – but we don't know how many she reached."

"That needs to change. Matthew."

"Yes, ma'am." Matthew disappeared from the room with a flash of his cape. Once more did a pall descend over the Order, the shoulders every Hero gathered slumping under the weight of their dire discovery. Anna recovered first, clearing her throat, launching into a flurry of action and orders.

"Robin, stay with Sharena. Learn everything you can. Chrom, Sain – send messages to the garrisons. We need to know the moment Embla mobilizes. Alfonse, you know what you're doing."

The room resounded with confirmation, each taking to their task. As he left, Alfonse caught Anna staring out of the window, her vigour drained, even her frown faltering. Her expression froze him on the spot. "Commander…"

"Go, Alfonse," she repeated, with neither force nor insistence. "You have your orders."

"…Yes, ma'am."

He dragged himself from the war room, making his way to the Barracks. The snapping, slavering maw of Embla's advantage chased his every step.

* * *

"What are you thinking?"

Averill snapped from his reverie. Tiki had led him to a market street that cut through the heart of Askr, packed with peddlers and the song of their sales. Were it not for the lack of sea salt stinging the breeze, he might have thought himself home.

He didn't answer straight away, looking out into the crowds from the side. They'd taken a bench to break from the walking, having crossed from the distant palace barracks to the city proper.

"Averill?" Tiki urged, quietly.

"Do they know there's a war on?" he returned, straightening from his forward hunch.

She followed his line of sight, searching the smiling masses. "It would be very difficult to keep such a thing secret. Why?"

"It's all so normal." He murmured, scratching the back of his neck. "Barely a guard in sight. I've never seen any kingdom so peaceful."

"Askr pours its strength into securing its borders." Tiki replied, folding her hands over her lap. "'Tis a dream of peace that they will surely wake from if the campaign draws out. Some small forces have already broken through, as you've seen. A handful of Heroes…"

"Ignorance is bliss."

"Quite." She smiled, closing her eyes. "You've seen your share of war?"

"Aye." Averill grunted, looking around. The world seemed content to carry on without them, at least for the moment. "Neighbouring Garlemald saw us suffer its imperial hunger."

"Garlemald?"

"A nation to the east of ours. Their reach spans the whole continent, and then some." He lowered his voice as he explained, always watching the crowds, and soon Tiki realised his intent to keep talk of war away from the dreaming citizens. "It's their fervent wish to bring all under imperial yoke, to stamp out the savages at their doorstep."

"How long since the war began?"

"Oh, years. Ever since the conquest of Ala Mhigo – that's their foothold into Eorzea, y'see. Baelsar, the general, crushed the city-state and built a great wall of steel to secure their foothold. He would've swept through the rest of Eorzea, too, had the…"

Averill trailed off. "Is something the matter?" asked she. He pointed forward.

A child, spying Tiki at the bench, waved and shouted her name. "Lady Tiki! Lady Tiki!"

The manakete returned the gesture, leaving the bench to kneel at his height, sweeping the sprinting boy into a tight hug. "Little Cecil! Where's your mother?"

"She's- uh…"

"Don't tell me you ran off without her." Tiki huffed, "That's not very gentlemanly."

The boy had no words, instead staring over her shoulder at the scowling, scarred man coiled forward on the bench. Averill kept his gaze far removed from Cecil, watching the crowds and doing his best to leave Tiki to her chatter. "Cecil," Tiki repeated, taking the boy by his shoulders and putting herself in the way of his gawping, "Where's your mother?"

"Oh, she's over there! Mama!"

A woman, basket in one hand and infant in the other, hastened over to her son. "So this is where you ran off to. Silly boy – apologies, milady."

"Please," Tiki raised a hand, "No need for that. Cecil, what do you say to your mother for running off?"

"Sorry, mama."

His mother smiled, before following the anxious gaze of her child and spying Averill on the bench. Her instinct followed his, though she knew how to articulate her anxiety. "Who is he?"

"This is Averill, latest to join the Order." Tiki opened an arm out to gesture to him. The hyur, for his part, snapped from the crowds and raised a hand in silent greeting.

"He's a Hero?" Cecil's disbelief shone like a beacon. "But he's all-"

"Cecil!" snapped his mother, "Don't be rude."

Averill closed his eye and turned away. He angled his face so that his bindings would mask the rest of his expression, set in its scowl as it was. His mother spoke again, with a hushed reverence. "Is he the one that arrived just recently, then? Heralded by the light?"

"Indeed. 'Twas quite the spectacle – and he has proven himself a staunch ally in such a short time."

"I see… milord? Averill, is that your name?"

"'Tis."

"Pray, forgive my son for his words. He's only little."

"Nothing to forgive." He shrugged.

Cecil hid himself behind his mother's dress. The child in her arms began to stir, and she carried on with half an eye for Averill, slouched on the bench. "People are calling him the Warrior of Light, given the pillar. Is he strong?"

Averill shot back to staring at Cecil's mother. His voice pitched, surprise so easily mistaken for ire that even Tiki whipped around. "They're calling me what?"

Tiki's gaze flit between him and his target. The woman withdrew a pace, his growl enough to cow sterner souls than she. "Th-they don't mean nothing by it, I'm sure!"

"They-" he paused, taking a breath that shuddered with alien agitation, "Good gods…"

Tiki frowned, brows pinching together. She reached for Cecil's mother, and smiled at the boy who gripped his parent's dress tighter than he'd hugged her. "Perhaps 'tis best we carry this on some other time?"

"Y-yes, perhaps. Excuse us, milady."

She made no secret of her desire to get away from Averill, pulling the boy along until only the memory of his wide-eyed stare lingered – and only then did she deign to return to the hyur's side. "Warrior of Light…" he scoffed.

She tipped her head, tried to find some way to approach him without agitating further, but could think of nothing. Instead she sighed, drew her cape about herself, and spoke quietly. "I spend as much time as I can down here."

"Why?"

"'Tis good to keep a firm grasp on what we fight for. Who we fight for."

Averill grunted. Tiki's composure twitched, pinching her lips down a measure. "Do you take issue with that?"

"No."

"What, then?"

He scratched at his chest, avoiding her eye as he had Cecil's. Despite sitting so close, she felt the distance between them growing in leagues. "These aren't your people," he eventually whispered, after a long silence, "This isn't your home – and this isn't your war. You're reminding yourself of what you've been stolen from."

Tiki's frowned deepened. "That is how you see these people? As party to your removal from Eorzea?"

"I wasn't talking about me."

"Then do not presume to know how I see Askr." Tiki interjected, "And if you must blame anyone for your summoning, blame those who incited the need for it."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she turned from him. His fist coiled at his knee, strangling frustration, choking his retort into a laden sigh. "I understand your feelings," she murmured, "I do – but these people are not at fault. The Order is not at fault; had Embla not raised its banners, you would never have been summoned. None of us would have."

Averill shook his head, ceding. Tiki used the silence to press onto her next question, striking at the heart of his irritation. "Cecil's mother called you the Warrior of Light. Why did that trouble you so?"

"All questions today, aren't you?" He rebuffed, scowling.

"You forget that you are as foreign to me as Askr is to us." Tiki countenanced his ire with a smile, softening from her sterner rebukes. "I mean not to pry – only to understand."

"It's-" She watched as Averill fought to find the words, pulling a face like he was sniffing foul meat. "Complicated. Those words – they mean something to Eorzeans. Something I don't deserve."

"Titles are rarely the choice of those who hold them."

"Nay, but I'll refuse that one for as long as I live. Don't care what folks want to call me – they don't call me that."

"Why?"

"Because!" Averill snapped, "It's an _expectation_. It's _duty_. I need neither of those."

Tiki's gaze wandered, studying the hyur. She could not fathom his rage, and it caused her to close her arms about her stomach, defensive. "Would you tell me about them? This warrior whose title troubles you so."

"Why?"

"I've already answered that question."

Averill grumbled, cursing under his breath. "I've never known one so relentlessly curious."

"I've had plenty of time to practise."

"That you have. Our dragons are usually more cryptic than curious." A grin returned, surfacing from troubled depths, "And they're not 'milady', either. I thought Chrom and the siblings were the only royalty?"

"They are," Tiki nodded, "Heroes are oft afforded a measure of respect for their service to the realm. Thus, milord."

"Ah, this gilt cage they've built for us." He scoffed. "The lap of comfort in exchange for a life of servitude."

"Must you deride them so?"

"Must you forgive them?"

"There is nothing to forgive," Tiki rebuked, "As you said."

He stopped short of an answer, finding her eyes locked to his. Brilliant green, the freshest sprig of mint, catching the light in ways his own trampled fields could never hope to match. Fierce enough, but soft as well. He stared for but a breath, captured by her conviction, before shirking it with a sigh. "You really do love them."

"Indeed," said she, smiling. She placed a hand to her chest, for the first time pulling away from him. "I had hoped to share that with you."

Averill watched the subject of their conversation, the crowds passing them by. He knew Tiki spoke the truth, that they had no part in his summoning, but their happiness only reminded him of the home now lost to him. He exhaled harshly through his nose, pinching the bridge of it in an effort to squeeze the ire from his mind. "Well," he began, finding a half-smile, "The view's not so bad."

"'Tis true." Tiki concurred. "There are finer sights, if you wish to see them."

"I'm content to stay here," Averill rumbled, shaking his head. "Besides, I do believe our excursion is over."

"What do you mean?"

She followed his outstretched hand, pointing at the fair-haired woman in maid's garb cutting through the crowds, headed straight for them. Felicia hastened over, short of breath, and when Tiki greeted her offered her orders. "I've been sent to collect you."

"What for?" asked Averill. Felicia watched him nervously, and he noticed. He spied her wariness in the way her fingers worried the sleeves of her garb.

"The King of Askr wishes to meet with you."


	7. Chapter 7

They walked in silence to the Askran palace. Averill, with his eyes fixed on the guiding Felicia's back, cared not for conversation. Tiki, filled with thoughts spurred by their time in the market, dared not break his focus with more idle curiosity. Felicia led them away from the market street, up the roads winding away from the city proper, towards the palace rising above the rest of the realm. Their barracks dwelled in its shadow, the resplendent reach of Askran architecture in full view wherever they walked, but never had Averill considered that he might see the inside so soon.

Much like the Order's own halls, the palace shone with white-gold standards, each bearing the mark of the Askran kingdom. They lined the hall leading to the throne room, great banners of fine cloth embroidered with gold thread. Guards stood tirelessly at regular intervals, each adorned with a crest marking their station, and a spear sharp enough to enforce it. On the walls, in portraits as tall as he, stood proud men and women; rulers of the eons before.

Averill grinned. Tiki, at his side, noticed this and spoke in hushed tones. "Have you met royalty before?"

"What? No – nobles, once or twice. Never met a king before."

"Pray, do as I do when we are admitted into the throne room."

He made a noise somewhere between "Mm," and "Uhuh," his eye wandering still about the hall. Tiki kept her eyes forward, meeting Alfonse's at the far end of the hall. He smiled, nudging Anna to grasp her attention from a talk with one of the guards. They met just before the great doors of the throne room, each one beautifully carved with Askran designs. "What's this about?" asked Averill, folding his arms.

Anna thanked Felicia, dismissing her before addressing the hyur. Her part complete, she wasted no time escaping from their presence, heels clicking frantically as she balanced a polite walk and speedy retreat. "Are you in the habit of petrifying everyone you meet?"

"Not usually. I can't help how I look."

"Were your appearance the only issue…" Anna grumbled, massaging the bridge of her nose. "We summoned you here to speak with His Majesty regarding your arrival, and the realm you were summoned from."

Averill looked over Anna's shoulder to Alfonse, fidgeting quietly a mere step away. "Why do you need me to talk about that?"

"It is traditional for new Heroes to meet with King Gustav," Tiki added, "'Tis a formality, yes, but a necessary one – by his leave do we serve Askr, and by his grace are our binding Contracts kept from exploitation."

Averill grumbled, a mixture of disappointment and inconvenience warping his expression. Anna sighed, tempering her patience. "It won't be long. Alfonse, will you brief them whilst I brief the King?"

Alfonse broke from his distraction, clearing his throat. "Of course."

Anna departed, escorted inside the throne room by one of the guards. Averill fixated on Alfonse, who continued to refuse his eye. "You look about as happy as I feel."

"Yes, well…" The prince began, crossing his arms and steeling himself to countenance Averill's mangled visage. "It is a little more than your meeting the King that brings us here."

To Averill's surprise, Tiki asked before he did. She spoke over him. "What is it?"

"As – Tiki, as you know – it's customary for us to search the archives regarding the realms of new Heroes. Given the manner of his arrival – your arrival, sorry – we wanted to find out if Askr has encountered Eorzean Heroes before."

Tiki glanced to Averill, who sold his expression to stoicism. "And?" He rasped.

"We didn't find anything," Alfonse replied quickly, "Or, rather, there was nothing to find. Askr has no record of ever meeting Eorzea, not in the millenia since its founding."

"Not a single record?" she confirmed, "Then that would mean-"

"Yes," nodded Alfonse, voice taken by a sudden reverence; and with it, like a creeping shadow, the same wariness that beset Felicia, "Averill is from a realm Askr has never reached before."

"Then I might rest knowing you've not ripped another from hearth and home."

Tiki's suffering smile earned a small look from Alfonse. Unapologetic, Averill looked to the door. "If you do not wish to be here…" the prince prompted, trailing off.

"Nay – I'm here. Might as well meet the man behind it all. How long must we wait?"

"Anna should be finished briefing him. I'll check."

Alfonse ventured into the throne room, leaving Tiki and Averill to a weighted silence. As it became apparent that the prince had joined whatever conversation delayed Anna, for they could here naught beyond the ancient doors, the hyur cleared his throat and began to speak. "What's he like?"

"The King?" Tiki clarified. He nodded. "He loves his people, treasures his family. The war might tax a lesser man, but King Gustav stands firm at the heart of the conflict."

His arms began to unfurl. "Met a few, have you?"

"Less than a handful. Why?"

"Less than a handful…" he whispered, stifling a laugh. "How does he compare?"

"Very different times and very different circumstances surround their histories. 'Twould be unfair to judge them."

"You're too kind."

"Perhaps it is you who is too sharp," she mused, "Do you judge yourself as harshly as you judge others?"

"Please," Averill grumbled, "I'm the worst of the bunch."

"Is that right?"

"Of course," he shrugged, "I labour under no delusions. Next to yourself, the others, I'm just another sword to be swung."

Tiki's smile faded. She looked down the hall, towards the palace exit and the barracks beyond. "Such is the way you wish to be seen, is it?"

"Does this matter?" Averill replied, his voice rippling with frustration. He began to itch his chest.

"Yes."

"No." He corrected, sighing, "No it doesn't."

"It matters to me." Tiki pressed, stepping closer. "Must you paint yourself in such shades? What do you gain by cutting yourself away from all civility?"

"Peace and bloody quiet, that's what." Averill growled. He matched her stare, straightened his back, glaring down with a deepening scowl. "Give me the silence of the wilds and the peace of one day – just one – without some child cowering as they would from a monster. That's all I need."

"Truly?"

"Truly!" He snapped, hearing the creak of the throne room's doors too late.

Anna cleared her throat, fixing them both with a look that bordered on murderous. "Are you quite finished with the bickering?"

"Aye." Averill snarled, relaxing fists he didn't realise he'd clenched. He tore from Tiki's scrutiny, pushing into the throne room. The manakete, after a quiet apology and a brief farewell, tore from the hall and strode from the palace.

Anna rolled her eyes, following Averill in. The inside of the throne room continued the trend of the rest of the palace, decorated with white-gold standards and gorgeous artwork. The throne dominated the room, at the crest of a long crimson carpet and carved from radiant marble, its arms the claws of a prideful, ancient white dragon sculpted to watch over those who entered the seat of Askr's power.

In that seat, in quiet discussion with his heir, sat Gustav. A tall man, stern-browed and broad-shouldered, clad in armour emblazoned with Askr's symbol. Such was the only decoration, though; the rest seemed perfectly battle-ready, as did the elegant blade resting against the arm of the throne. Indeed, if Tiki was to be believed, he could well have walked from the frontlines for this meeting alone. In him he saw Alfonse's steady temperament and Sharena's passionate fervour, each forged with experience the pair could only dream of achieving. Averill opened his stance, walking alongside Anna until they reached the foot of the stairs.

"My liege," said the Commander, saluting and bowing low, "May I present Averill Rooks, the Hero recently summoned from Eorzea."

Gustav ceased his conversation with Alfonse, looking down from the throne to the returning soldier and newly-arrived hyur. Showing deference, Anna did not notice what the others saw straight away. Alfonse frowned. "Averill, it is common courtesy to bow before royalty."

"Your royalty." Averill shrugged. Anna turned on the hyur, her eyes a blazing tangle of anger and horrified bewilderment. Gustav said nothing.

"Averill, you-!"

"Anna," he interrupted, tone even, matter-of-fact. "I am not Askran, and he is not my king."

"Even still, you walk our halls! Is a little respect so much to ask?"

"You ask for fealty, not respect. Does this meeting hang on so small a gesture?"

"No," spoke the king, raising a hand when she made to protest. "Peace, Commander. He speaks the truth."

The corner of Averill's mouth twitched upwards. Gustav swept from the top of the steps down to their level, crossing the gap in a few short strides. He towered head-and-shoulders over the hyur, a soul in full control of the might gifted to him. "My son and Anna have told me much, Hero of Eorzea."

"I'm not a Hero."

"Pray, do not misunderstand – in our tongue, you are. Such is the way our kingdoms have referred to those of the worlds beyond our own for eons. In the way that you might call us Askrans, or you might call a dragon a dragon – a Hero is a Hero."

Averill shifted, making to cross his arms, but Gustav only smiled. The warmth of a father spread across his grave complexion. "If the semantics trouble you so," he continued, "Shall we dispense with the formalities? No king or Hero, we – but Averill and Gustav. Will that set you at ease?"

Anna and Alfonse shared an awed glance as the consummate contrarian, standing in apparent defiance wherever they tread, simply nodded. Gustav offered a hand which Averill accepted, grasping firm and shaking once. "My son tells me there is naught in our archives about your realm, Averill. Though rare, 'tis not without precedent – the circumstances heralding your arrival, on the other hand…"

"What circumstances?"

"A rare confluence of events marked your summoning. The use of Breidablik, sealed away for many a year in the care of the Order; our current resurgent war with Embla; and the pillar of light announcing your arrival. In the full lifetime I've lived in service to Askr, never have I seen a Hero arrive in the manner you did."

Averill folded his arms, saddled with the burden borne purely by chance. He recalled the rumours of the citizenry, the title they'd foisted upon him. The Warrior of Light… "How is it Askr came into such a power?" He inquired, not for a moment hiding his curiosity. "Traversing worlds as easily as one might open a door – where I'm from, such magicks are almost impossible."

"The answer to your question lies at the heart of Askr's founding myth, and is a tale too long for our current climate. I'm sure Alfonse can delight you with the details – for the moment, suffice it to say that it is a blessing of the one who forged Askr in their image."

"Very well." Averill conceded. "Why did you call me here?"

Gustav shook his head. "This meeting was the request of my son. He believed, quite rightly, that we should not discuss matters pertaining to you and your allegiances without you here."

Averill leaned to look past the king, recognising Alfonse's request with a small nod. "What is there to discuss? I've been summoned, I've agreed to fight. Have you cause to doubt me?"

"Nay," assured Gustav, "You are a foreign soul, but a straightforward one. I believe your intent is genuine – what's more, you have already fought to protect my son, and for that you have my gratitude."

"Aye, well." Averill shrugged. "'Twas Chrom's action, more than mine, that spared him a grisly end."

"Your actions will speak louder than your modesty in these halls," spoke the king, taking to his throne, "Having tended the matter at hand, I wonder if you might lend your ear to the request of Askr's king?"

"You speak to me as king now?"

"I speak _with_ you." Gustav clarified, "And ask a simple enough question; what do you make of Askr?"

Averill contemplated this. Had Tiki not taken him into the city proper, there would be no answer beyond the battles he'd fought and his brief experience in the Order. Seeing the city, the citizenry, most importantly, he found his answer rather easily. "I believe when they wake from their delusion, 'twill be a dark day for you and yours."

"Delusion?" asked Anna, brow furrowed.

"The war is far away. Battles on the border. Reports from lands further afield of a force howling at the gates." Averill continued, scratching the back of his neck, "But it will not stay that way. When the war takes them by the throat, when the horror knocks on their door…"

Gustav considered his words. For the first time in their conversation, he lost his geniality, adopting a ponderous frown. "That is what we're here for," Alfonse protested, "The Order-"

"-has failed." Averill cut in. "Don't fool yourself, lad. Embla's already breached your borders. You saw enemy Heroes so close to our gates, 'twas a miracle they were not prepared for the invasion. These are the last lines of your defence, and if we're careless, these will be the last days of Askr."

"Yours is a ferocious candour," Gustav mused, looking to Anna and Alfonse for confirmation. Anna, on the whole unimpressed by the hyuran's approach, merely folded her arms; Alfonse avoided his father's gaze, "But it seems you speak something close to the truth. How would you suggest we proceed?"

"You have tacticians and generals for such counsel." Averill replied, shaking his head, "I have survived wars – never fought in them."

"Are you not a soldier?"

"I'm what Eorzeans call an adventurer. Free men and women of every stripe, beholden to no purpose but their own. We go where we please and do as we wish, within the tolerance of the law. Without, for some." The hyur stared up at the king. "I might fight, and my strength serves in the defence of your realm, but smarter men than I guide the grander schemes. Ask Robin or Chrom, or the good Commander."

Gustav sat on his throne, leaning forward to pierce the hyur with a leader's stare. Averill kept his stance open, his gaze firm. He'd seen the look before – those trying to pierce the monstrous veil, peel back the scars to find the man underneath. The king hummed, apparently content, and slowly nodded. "I see. Then, if not your counsel, might I ask for one more answer?"

"I have neither the reason nor the ability to deny your asking."

"You have met with the people of Askr, fought with their Heroes. Until now, your Contract has been a matter undiscussed, your volition assumed. As protector of the realm and servant to her people, I ask – will you help us?"

"I've answered that already."

"No – you have but recited the conditions of your Contract. Your strength serves Askr, as the eldest magicks of our realm dictate, and the Order has your allegiance, but you have not answered me. Will you accept the plea of this struggling nation, and lend your sword to its defence?"

"You know the answer – why do you care if I say it?"

"Answer the question, Rooks." Anna's weary demand sparked a grin, which he quickly stifled. The king closed his eyes, beginning to explain:

"In a way, our people are much like you. We began as adventurers, explorers of realms alongside our Emblian brothers and sisters, and long have we held freedom in the highest regard. You are bound by Askr's Contract, yes, but it need not be so. Should you demand your freedom, it will be granted and secured by my power as king. I ask for your help because undoubtedly, we need it; you have seen it yourself. But it must be by choice. Not by duty or by circumstance. You must choose to help us – such is the right of those who possess a Hero's power."

As he listened, Alfonse saw the hyur's face change. He took on a peculiar expression, recollection buried in surprise, like he had opened a journal to a page he had no memory of writing. Gustav, too, saw it and gave Averill time to respond. He did so after a long, thoughtful silence. "Would you send me home if I refused?"

"If you so wished."

"Sire!" Anna protested; a swift hand cut her off.

"No questions asked?" asked Averill.

"You may leave without fear of judgement or repercussion. Far be it from any of us to begrudge a soul shorn from its home for wishing to return."

"Aye. Aye…" He folded his arms, good eye closing for one final moment, before he spoke again, "I'll fight. I've seen one empire tear through my home. 'Twould be wrong of me to let another tear through yours."

The king smiled, bowing his head. "You have my thanks. Fight well, Averill. I daresay we shall have great need of your strength in the days to come."

"Aye," he nodded; and then, to Anna, "Am I dismissed?"

"Yes," she replied all to quickly, in a sharp breath betraying anger restrained. She released the rest when the door closed behind him. "Good grief…"

"He is rather different to the others." Gustav chuckled, his eyes on the door. "You've grown too used to a knight's etiquette, Anna."

"All he wants to do is fight and disagree!" the commander exclaimed, ending on a huff, "Forgive me, sire. Perhaps I am struggling with him."

"Perhaps he knows he can get a rise out of you." Gustav suggested, with a warm smile in his son's direction. "When you two were much younger, your sister would oft behave the same."

Alfonse flushed red at the mention of his childhood, causing the king to break into laughter. "That doesn't seem relevant."

"It is perfectly relevant – to the pair of you. Perhaps our Eorzean adventurer is testing the boundaries he is so accustomed to lacking."

"Maybe. We'll see." Anna sighed. "Tiki and Chrom seem to get more than two decent words out of him, but he's managed to rile her, too."

"Give him time," Gustav concluded. His tone shifted, taking on a harsher command. "Now, Commander. Let us continue with the council…"

* * *

The Gate stood tall, proud, silent. Tiki sat before it, her mind far away as her eyes absently trailed the designs carved into the stone. She followed every curve, thoughts turning as they did, contemplation twisting into reverie, into pensiveness. Knees drawn up to her chest, hugged close by the wrap of her arms, she wondered in the shifting breeze, the roar of her previous company long-faded into a plaguing whisper.

She heard the footsteps of approaching Heroes but did not turn until they made themselves known, locking herself up with her thoughts for a moment longer, if only to glean some clarity from the mist.

Chrom cleared his throat, the death knell of her distraction, "There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know."

Tiki rose, masking her sigh with a sweep of her cape. She smiled when she faced him. "Is there? I wasn't sure."

He mirrored her expression, accepting the invitation to stand before the Gate. "Are you here for the summoning?"

"No – so soon?"

"We have the Orbs, and our lack of numbers is felt most keenly." Chrom sighed. "Whilst we wait for word from Matthew, there is naught to do but shore up our strength, make ready. If we can summon, we should not wait."

"Is that so wise?" Tiki inquired, holding one arm with her hand, gaze slipping. "Given the sentiment that troubled our last attempt…"

"Even Averill has accepted the necessity of our plight." Chrom turned from the Gate to its other watcher, trying to assuage the manakete. "Besides – he is surely the exception, not the rule."

"Or good fortune has graced our every summoning," came the whispered rebuke, "Just because a thing has been one way does not mean it should be so."

"Hm…" Chrom found no answer for her, and so changed the subject, "Speaking of our errant newcomer…?"

"He meets with the king."

"You didn't go with him?"

"I did-" Tiki began, "At least, I should have liked to. He made his company rather difficult."

"Oh?" Chrom smirked, "That seems most unlike him."

She rolled her eyes, easing into a smile as she recounted their visit to the city to Chrom. "I know not what troubles him so about their title, but his discomfort around the citizenry achieved quite the opposite of what I intended – and when we spoke of it, 'twas as if he was aware of his supposed impact on others, rather than any distress suffered from being in a crowd."

"Not everyone sees past scars so easily." Chrom suggested, "And not everyone is comfortable around others of different stripes. He reminds me of Lon'qu, in a way."

Tiki remembered Lon'qu, the proud swordsman, and in doing so began to see Chrom's point. "Did I ever tell you what he said when he first joined the Shepherds?" asked he. She shook her head. "His services were offered by the West-Khan for our campaign against the Mad King. When I asked if he was comfortable with the arrangement, he said only this; 'He gives orders. I stab people. I think our roles are clear.'"

The old comrades shared a laugh in a memory from a world away, and Tiki felt the pangs of longing more keenly than she ever had before Averill laid them bare. "Tiki-" Chrom began, "I know what you're going to say, but…"

"I cannot," she replied, gripping her arm tighter, "I cannot, Chrom. 'Tis a miracle that we should meet like this, before your time, but if we are ever to return to our world, your future must remain thus."

"If I can spare my people – spare Emm – one day of pain, just one…"

"Chrom," Tiki whispered, shaking her head more fiercely, "Please."

As quickly as it had arrived, the laughter failed to grim silence. Chrom balled his fist but relented. "Is Lykala ready?" asked she, gentle.

"I'll go check."

Chrom span to leave, his step hesitating for a moment before he committed. Tiki bowed her head, eyes closed.

"So it's not just places people get ripped from."

Mint eyes snapped open again. Averill, the source of Chrom's pause, approached. "When did you return?"

"Just now. That sounded important." He gestured to the back of the departing Shepherd. Tiki's shoulders slumped.

"We share a world, but as you say – we are not of the same time. The Chrom I know is from his future, near the end of his journey. Every private moment we share, he asks – begs – to know how he might walk such a path better…"

"You think he's beholden to the path you've seen him walk?"

"I know that if any one trial is not suffered, one victory changed, one battle avoided, it might irrevocably change our world for the worse. And I will not speak of it to anyone, lest you think of asking."

"Never crossed my mind." Averill shrugged. "Your choice is yours, and his destiny is his."

"Precisely." She turned to him, unsmiling, eyes searching. "How was your meeting with the king?"

"I think Anna might make an attempt on my life after it – but the man himself was fine. He must be loved."

"What did you do?"

Averill flashed with feigned offence. "What did _I_ do?"

"You certainly implied your fault in her ire – or is this her general rage being directed towards your life?"

"Wouldn't be the first time – but nay, not for the moment. I didn't bow when she wanted me to."

"I can see why that might irk her." Tiki mused. "She stands on few ceremonies, our Commander, but her respect for King Gustav is absolute. What did you speak of?"

"A few things. Apparently Askr has no records of Eorzea, or its champions. I'm the first to be summoned."

"Is that so?"

"Aye. Surprised they didn't ask more about it, actually."

"If I know Alfonse's curiosity, he will not be able to help himself."

"Aye. Time will tell – at the least, if you find my corse upon the morn, you'll know who to search for the knife."

"Duly noted." A wind whipped between them, rustling Tiki's hair. She fussed with it as she contemplated her next words. "Have you calmed from our time in the city?"

"Calmed?"

"You seemed most troubled by our trip. 'Twas not my intent to disturb you."

"It wasn't your fault. If I fell to rancour every time someone called me something I disliked, we'd most likely never have this conversation. Guess I never expected to hear it so far from home."

"That title?" A nod. Tiki took his calm as her opportunity. "What does it mean to you?"

"It…" Averill looked around. "They are heroes, in the truest sense of the word. Adventurers of every stripe who stepped up in our darkest hours to spare us from calamity. 'Tis no mere title to pass upon to an idiot who gets summoned. A Warrior of Light earns the name, through tireless effort and painful sacrifice."

"Have you not done so?" she asked, "By your scars…"

"These?" Averill gestured roughly to his mangled visage, "Nay. These are lessons. Mistakes. I have suffered such wounds in selfish pursuits and reckless ventures, not from saving the realm. The idea that I could ever be called a Hero tickles me."

Tiki closed her eyes, wondering what kind of mistakes cost a man so much of the handsome stride of his youth. "However you earned them before," she concluded, nodding firmly, "You fought to protect Alfonse's life – Chrom's too, against Embla's Heroes. That is heroism enough for me."

He scoffed. Tiki confronted him, turning his way to ensure his attention. "'Tis true! Your actions speak ever louder than your claims."

Averill's derision softened. Faced with a plea so earnest, he felt his blood stir and his smile grow into a kindly curl. It warmed him so, filled his scars and wound back the savage toll of time. "It matters not," he spoke, quiet, "Whatever my actions, I am what I am. I made my peace with it a long time ago."

"Averill…"

"It's alright." he chuckled, "That you try so to convince me warms the heart, it does. I've never known a beautiful woman so convinced of my virtues, but you need not force it. Let us be about our business without such tired distractions, eh? Surely there are more interesting things than how the world chooses to see one tired, mangled vagrant."

The manakete sighed. Where the swell of his warmth gave Averill more of his youth back, the draining of hers wound her eyes forward. The hyur marvelled as eyes far older than even her tired smile suggested met his. "As you wish."

"Come on, now…" He began, too late in his attempt to assuage. Tiki stood, rising to meet those who joined them now. She directed Averill to their presence.

Chrom, Lykala, Anna. All approached in a line, the summoner between his protectors, and in his hand sat a relic of most curious design. Tiki bowed her head.

"It's time."


End file.
